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No. 1304 OGDEN STREET, 
PHIUAD'A, PA. 




P\Sdl/^^ Hm^J- fj)i/L 



THE POETICAL WORKS 



OF 



ROBERT BURNS. 



REPRINTED FROM THE BEST EDITIONS, 



I2aitl) l£iplnua oig ^Slossarg, ilotES, i^rlemoii, ^z. 



PORTRAIT AND ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS. 



NEW YORK . 

WORTHINGTON COMPANY, 

28 LAFAYETTE PLACE. 
1086. 




1^1 'a3 



IF 



CONTENTS. 



Preface to the First, or Kilmarnock, Edition .... 
Dedication to the Second, or Edinburgh, Edition. 
Memoir of Robert Burns 



xn 

xiii 



The Cotter's Saturday Night 1 

The Twa Dogs 6 

Scotch Drink 12 

The .Author's Earnest Cry and Prayer 
to the Scotch Representatives in 

the House of Commons 16 

The Death and Dying Words of Poor 
Mailie, the Author's only Pet Yowe 21 

Poor Jfailie's Elegy 23 

A Prayer in the Prospect of Death .. 24 

Stanzas on the Same Occasion 25 

Verses left by the Author in the 
room where he slept at a Reverend 

friend's house 26 

The First Psalm 26 

The First Six Verses of the Nine- 
tieth Psalm 27 

To a Mouse 28 

Halloween 29 

Man was made to Moum 37 

Address to the De'il 40 

The Vision 43 

A Winter Night 51 

The Auld Farmer's New- Year Jlorn- 
ing Salutiition to his auld Mare 
Maggie, on giving her the accus- 
tomed rip of com to hansel in the 

new year 53 

To a Louse ; on seeing one on a lady's 

bonnet at church 56 

The Inventory ; in answer to a man- 
date by the surveyor of taxes, re- 
quiring a retuin for the assessed 

taxes 

To a Mountain Daisy ; on turn ing one 
down with the plough, in April, 

1786 

To Ruin 61 

To Miss Logan ; with Reattie's Poems, 
as a New- Year's Gift, Jan. 1, 1787 
The Lament ; occasioned by the un- 
fortunate is.sue of a friend's amour 
On a Scotch Bard, gone lo the West 
Indies 64 



57 



59 



61 



62 



The Farewell to the Brethren of St. 

James's Lodge, Tarbolton 66 

The Farewell 67 

Farewell to Ayrshire 68 

Lines written ou a Bank-note 68 

Verses to an old Sweetheart after 
her Marriage ; written on ti le blank 
leaf of a copy of his Poems pre- 
sented to the lady 69 

Verses written under Violent GHef 69 

Despondency 70 

Whiter 71 

The Brigs of Ayr 72 

Lines on meeting with Lord Daer ... 78 

Address to Edinburgh 79 

To the Memory of Prince Charles 

Edward Stuart 81 

To a Haggis 81 

Prologue, spoken by Mr. Woods on 
his benefit night, Monday, April 

16, 1787 8.1 

Nature's Law ; humbly inscribed to 

Gavin Hamilton, Ksq 84 

Verses on Reading in a Newspaper 
the Death of John M'Leod, Esq., 
brother to a young lady, a particu- 
lar friend of the Author's 8.5 

Elegy ou the Death of Sir James 
Hunter Blair, a partner in the 
emin- nt banking house of Sir 
William Forbes and Co., of Edin- 
burgh 86 

To Miss Ferrier ; enclosing the Elegy 

on Sir J. H. Blair 87 

Lines wi itten with a Pencil over the 
Chinniey-piece in the Parlour of 
the Inn at Kenmore, Taymouth ... 88 
The Hvunble Petit ion of Bruar Water 

to the Noble Duke of Athole 89 

Wiitten with a Pencil, standing by 

the Fall of Fyt-rs, near Loch-ness 91 
On Scaring Si line Waterfowl in Loch- 
turit, a wild scene amid the hills 
of Oughteityr* 9] 



p 



CONTEXTS 



PAGK i 

Castle-Gordon y:^ j 

To Miss Cruikshiinks, a very young 

lady 93 

Poetical Address to Mr. William 
Tytler, with a present of the 

Bard's picture 94 

Elegy on the Death of Robert Dun- 
das, Esq., of Arniston, Lord Presi- 
dent of the Covu-t of Session 95 

Written in Friar's-carse Hermitage, 

on Nit h side 96 

Ditto, sec(Had version 97 

To 'larinda 98 

To Cliirinda ; with a present of a pair 

of drinkiug-glasses 98 

To Clarinda 99 

To Clarinda 99 

Mrs. Foigusson of Craigdarrock's 
Lament for the Death of her Son 100 

Elegy on the year 1T88 100 

To Captain Riddel, of Glenriddcl; on 
returning a newspaper cor.taining 

criticisms of the Poet's works 102 

'"o John Taylor 102 

Sketch 103 

On Seeing a Wounded Hare limp by 
me, which a fellow had just shot 

at 104 

Delia 104 

Address to the Toothache 105 

On Cai)tain Grose's Pere.t<rinations 
through Scotland, collecting the 

Antiquities of that Kingdom 106 

Lines Written in a Wrapper enclos- 
ing a Letter to Captain Grose 108 

Sketch— New Year's Day (1790) 109 

Prologue, spoken at the Theatre, 
Dumfries, on New Year's Day 

evening (1790) 110 

Prologue, for Mr. Sutherland's Bene- 
fit Night, Dumfries Ill 

To the Owl 112 

Verses on an Evening View of the 

Ruins of Lincluden Abbey 113 

Verses to my Bed 115 

Elegy on Peg Nicholson, a bay mare 

of Mr. W. Nichol's lis 

Ijines written to a Gentleman who 
had sent him a Newspaper, and 
offered to continue it free of Ex- 
pense 116 

Elegy on Captain Matthew Hender- 
son, a gentleman who held the 
patent for his honovu-s imme- 

diatclj' from Almighty God 117 

Tam o' Shaiiter 121 

On the Birth of a Posthumous Child, 
born imder peculiar circumstances 

of family distress 127 

Elegy on Miss Burnet, of Monboddo 128 
ijament of Mary, Queen of Scots, on 

the apjiroach of Spring 129 

Lament for James, Earl of Glcncaim 130 
Lines sent to Sir John Whiiefoord 
of Whitefoord, Bart., with the 

foregoing Poem 132 

Address to the Shade of Thomson. 



VkOV 

on crowning his bust at Ednam, 

Roxburghshire, with bavs l:'>2 

Verses to John Maxwell, of Ter- 

raughty, on his Birthday 133 

On Sensibility ..' 134 

The Rights of Woman ; an occasional 
Address, spoken by Ull.ss Fontenellc 

on her benefit night 134 

On Seeing Miss l''ontenelle in a Fa- 
vourite Character 135 

To a Young Lady Miss Jessie Lewars, 
Dumfries 1, with book which the 

Bard pi-esented to her 136 

Sonnet, written on the 25th January, 
1793, the Bu-thday of the Author, 
on hearing a thrush sing in a 

morning walk 136 

Sonnet on the Death of Robert Rid- 
del, Esq., of Glenriddel 137 

On Pastoral Poetry 137 

Poem on Life, addressed to Colonel 

De Peyster, Dumfries, 1790 139 

A Vision 140 

Tam Samson's Elegy 141 

On the Death of a Favourite Child... 144 

Remorse 145 

Liberty 146 

Bruce 146 

Verses to Miss Graham, of Fintry, 

with a present of Songs 147 

Verses intended to bo Written below 

a NolJe Earl's Picture 147 

Lmes Sent to a Gentleman whom he 

had Offended 148 

Ver?es on the Destraction of the 

Woods near Drumlani-ig 148 

To Chloris 149 

The Vowels 160 

The Hermit ; written on a Marble 
Sideboard in the Hermitage be- 
longing to the Duke of Atliule, in 

the wood of Aberf eldy 151 

Poem addressed to Mr. Mitchell, Col- 
lector of Excise, Dumfries, 1796... 152 

To a Kiss 153 

Address, spoken by Miss Fontenelle 
on her benefit night, Dec. 4, 1795, 

at the Theatre, Dumfries 154 

The Toast 155 

JUVENILE POEMS. 

Tragic Fragment 156 

The Tarbolton Lasses 157 

The Ronalds 157 

The Poet's Welcome to his Illegiti- 
mate Child 159 

A Prayer, under the Pressure of 

Violent Anguish 160 

Though fickle Fortune has deceived 
me 161 

EPISTLES. 

Epistle to Davie, a brother Poet 162 

Second Epistle to Davie 1C6 



n 



CONTEiVTS. 



PAOE 

lEpistle to J. Lapraik, an old Scottish 

Bard 167 

Second Epistle to Lapraik 171 

To William Simpson, Uchiltree 174 

Epistle to J. Rankine enclosing 

some Poems 179 

Third Epistle to John Lapraik 181" 

Epistle to the Rev John Al'Math, 
one of the Presbyterian Clergy 
who p!eached against the "Auld- 

Liy'ht " do'.!trinea 182 

Epistlt to Juiin Goudie, Kilmarnock, 

on the publication of his Essays ... 185 
Epistle to Gavin Hamilton, Esq., re- 
commending a Boy 186 

Poetical Invitation to Mr. John Ken- 
nedy, accompanied by a copy of 
"The Cotter's Saturday Night" ... 187 

Epistle to a Young Friend 188 

Epistle to James Smith 190 

Epistle to Mr. M'Adam, of Craigen- 
gillan, on receiving an obliging let- 
ter from Mr. M'Adam 195 

Epistle to Major Log-an 1 96 

To the Giiidwife of Wauchope House 198 

Epistle to William Creech 200 

To Dr. Blacklock 202 

Letter to James Tait, of Glenconner 204 
First Epistle to R. Graham, Esq., of 

Fintry 205 

Epistle to Hugh Parker 208 

Second Epistle to Robert Graham, 
K.sq., of Fintry, on the close of the 
disputed election between Sir 
James Johnstone and Captain Mil- 
ler, for the Dumfries district of 

borouirhs 209 

Third Epistle to Robert Grabawi, 

Esq , of Fintry 212 

Fourth Epistle to Robert Graham, 

Esq., of Fintry 214 

Fpistle from Esopus to Maria 215 

V Dedication to Gavin HiOuiltou, 
Esq 217 

BALL.4D3. 

Tlie Whistle 221 

John Barleycorn 223 

POLITICAL BALLADS. 

The American War 22fi 

The L;iddies on the Banks of Nith , S£8 

The Five Carlins 22'J 

The Dean of Faculty 2ai 

Poetical Insciiptiou, for an Altar to 

Independence 233 

The Heron Election Ballads: — 

Ballad 1 233 

Ballad II. The Election 234 

Ballad III 237 

Ballad IV. John Busby's Lamen- 
tation 239 

The Jolly Reqgars. A Cantata "^40 



SONGS. 

My Handsome Nell , 251 

Luckless Fortune 252 

I dreamed I lay vrhere Flowers were 

springing 252 

O Tibbie, I ha'e seen the day 253 

My Father was a Farmer 254 

The Rigs o' Barley 256 

Montgomery's Peggy 257 

The Mauchline Liidy 257 

The Highland Lassie 257 

Peggy 258 

O, that I had ne'er been Married 259 

The Rantin' Dog the Daddie o't 260 

My Heart was ance as Blithe and 

Fi-ee 261 

Gude 'en to you, Kimmer 262 

A Fragment 263 

O, why the Deuce should I repine ? 263 

Robin Shure in Ilairst 263 

Sweetest May 264 

When I think on the Happy Days ... 264 

My Nannie, O ! 265 

Green grow the Rashes 266 

Menie 266 

The Bonnie Banks of Ayr 268 

My Jean 269 

Rantin' Rovin' Robin 269 

Bonnie Peggy Alison 270 

Mauchline Belles 271 

The Belles of Mauchline 271 

Huntinp-Song 272 

Young Peggy 272 

The Cure for all Care 273 

Eliza 274 

The Sons of Old Killie 275 

Katherine Jaflfray 275 

On Cessnock Banks 276 

On Cessnock Banks, improved ver- 
sion 277 

Mary 278 

To Mary 279 

Highland Mary 280 

The Lass of Ballochmyle 281 

Bonnie Dundee 282 

The Joyful Widower 282 

There was a Wife 283 

Come down the Back Stairs 283 

There 's news, Lasses, ntws 284 

1 'm o'er Young to Mai-ry yet 284 

Damon and Svivia 285 

The Birks of Alierfeldy 285 

Macpherson's Farewell 286 

The Chevalier's Lament 287 

Braw Lads of Galla Water 2SS 

Stav, mv charmer 288 

Strathallan's Lament 289 

My Hogiiie 2S9 

Her Daddy forbade 290 

Upin.the Jlorning early 290 

The young Highland Rover 291 

Hey, the dusty Miller 291 

Bonnie Peg 292 

There was a Lass 2i)2 

ShelahO'Neil „.. 293 



a 



O- 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary 293 

The Banks of the Devon 294 

There '11 never be Peace till Jamie 

comes Hame 294 

Ye ha'e Lien Wrang, Lassie 295 

Eaviug Winds around her Blowing . 29(i 

Women's Minds 290 

How Lang and Dreary is the Night . 297 

Musing on the roaring Ocean 297 

Blithe was she 298 

Song of Death 299 

The Poor and Honest Sodger 299 

Meg o' the Mill 301 

Auld Rob Morris 301 

Duncan Gray 302 

Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray 303 

The Ploughman 304 

Landlady, count the La win' 305 

To dauuton me 305 

Come, boat me o'er to Charlie 806 

A Rosebud by my early Walk 307 

Rattlin', Roarin' Willie 307 

Braving angry Winter's Storms 308 

My Wife 's a winsome wee thing 309 

Bonnie Lesley 309 

Tibbie Dunbar 310 

My Harry was a Gallant gay 310 

The Tailor 311 

Bonnie Jean 311 

Simmer's a Pleasant Time 313 

Beware o' Bonnie Ann 313 

When rosy May comes in wi' Flowers 314 

Blooming Nelly 314 

The Day returns 315 

My Love she 's but a Lassie yet 316 

Jamie, come, try me 31(3 

My Bonnie Mary 317 

The Lazy Mist 317 

The Captain's Lady 318 

Wee Willie Gray 318 

O, guid Ale comes 318 

Of a' the Airts the Wind can Blaw .. 319 

Whistle o'er the Lave o't 320 

O, can ye Labour lea? 321 

O, were I on Parnassus' Hill 321 

O, were my Love yon Lilac fair 322 

There 's a Youth m this City 322 

My Heart 's in the Highlands 323 

Blithe ha'e I been on yon Hill 323 

Come, let me take Thee 324 

John Anderson, my Jo . ... 324 

Our Thrissles flourished Fresh and 

Fair 

Brose and Butter 

O, meiTy ha'e I been Teethin' 

Heckle 

The Braes o' Ballochinyle 

Lament ; written at a time when 
the Poet was about to leave Scot- 
land 

To Mary in Heaven 327 

Evan Banks 328 

Eppie Adair 329 

The Battle of Sheriff- MTiir 3;iO 

Young Jockey 831 

O, Willie brewed a Peck o' Maut .... 332 
The Battle of Killiecrankie 332 



325 
325 



326 
326 



327 



PAGE 

The Blue-eyed Lass 333 

The Banks of Nith 333 

Tam Glen .... 334 

Prae the Friends and Land 1 love ... 335 

Sweet clo.ses the Evening 335 

Come, rede me. Dame 336 

Cock up your Beaver 337 

My Tocher 's the Jewel 337 

Guidwife, count the Lawin' 338 

The Bonnie Lad that 's Far Awa' 338 

I do Confess thou art sae Fair 339 

Yon wild mos.'iy Mountains 340 

It is na, Jean, thy bonnie Face 341 

O, saw ye my Dearie ? 341 

Wha is that at my Bower Door? 342 

What can a Young Lassie do? 342 

The Bonnie Wee Thing 343 

The Tither Morn 343 

Ae Fond Kiss 344 

Lovely Davies 845 

The Weary Pund o' Tow 346 

Banks of Cree 347 

Behold the Hour 347 

Logan Braes 348 

O, Poortith cauld and restless Love. 348 

Galla Water 349 

Lord Gregory 350 

Mary Morison 350 

Wandering Willie 351 

Open the Door to me, O 3.52 

Young Jessie 352 

I ha'e a Wife o' my ain 353 

O, for Ane-and-twenty, Tam 353 

O, Keniiiure 's On and Awa' H54 

My Collier Laddie 354 

Nithsdale's Welcome Hame 355 

As I was a-Wand'ring . 356 

Bess and her Spinning- AVheel 356 

The Posie 357 

Country Lassie 358 

Fair Eliza 359 

Te Jacobites by Name 360 

The Banks of Doon (first version) ... 361 
The Banks o' Doon (second version) . 361 

Sic a Wife as Willie had 362 

Lady Mary Ann 363 

Farewell to a' our Scottish Fame .... 364 

Gloomy December 365 

Wilt thou be my Dearie? 365 

She 's Fair and Fause 306 

Afton Water 366 

Bonnie Bell 367 

The Gallant Weaver 367 

Jeanie's Bosom 368 

For the sake of Somebody 368 

The Lovely Lass of Inverness 368 

The Mirk Night of December 369 

O, wat ye wha 's in yon Town ? 369 

Jockey's ta'en the parting Kiss ... . 370 

LadyOnlie 371 

The Carles of Dysart 371 

The Deuks dang o'er my Daddie, O.. 372 
The De'il's awa' wi' th'Exciseman .. 372 

Dainty Davie 373 

By Allan Stream 374 

Phillis the Fair 374 

Had I a Cave 375 



& 



CONTENTS. 



vu 



PAGE 

Thou hast Left me Ever 375 

A)ild Lang Syne . .. 376 

Bannockburn. [Robert Bruce's Ad- 
dress to his Army] 376 

My Spouse Nancy 377 

Fair Jenny 378 

Lovely Polly Stewart 379 

The Highland Laddie 379 

Anna, thy Charms 380 

Cassillis Banks 380 

The Auld Man 381 

OPhilly 381 

Contented wi' Little 383 

Canst thou Leave me thus, my Katie? 383 

Chloris 384 

Had I the Wyte she bade me 384 

Coming through the Rye 385 

The Winter it is Past 386 

Young Jamie, Pride of a' the Plaij.... 386 

Out over the Forth 387 

The Lover's Morning Salutation to 

his Mistress 387 

The Lass of Ecclefechan 388 

The Cooper o' Cuddie 388 

Ah, Chloris 389 

The Cardin' o't 389 

The Lass that made the Bed to me... 390 

Sae Far Awa' 391 

I 'U aye Ca' in by yon Town 392 

Let not Woman e'er Complain 392 

Saw ye my Phely ? 393 

On the Seas and Far Away 393 

She says she Lo'es me best of a' 394 

To thee, loved Nith 395 

Bannocks o' Barley 395 

Hee Balou 396 

Wae is my Heart 396 

Here 's his Health in Water 387 

My Peggy's Face 397 

The charming Month of May 398 

Lassie with the lint-white Locks . . 398 
My Lady's Gown, there's Gairs upon 't 399 
Imang the Trees, where Humming 

Bees 400 

The Gowden Locks of Anna 400 

O, wat ye what my Minnie did? 401 

My Nannie's Awa' 402 

The Last Braw Bridal 403 

Here 's to thy Health, my bonnie 

Lass 403 

The Farewell 404 

O, steer her up 405 

O, aye my Wife she Dang me 405 

O, wert thou in the cauld Blast 406 

O, wha is she that Lo'es me ? 406 

O, lay thy Loof in mine, Lass 407 

The Fete Champetre 408 

Here 's a Health to them that 's 

awa' 409 

The Dumfries Volunteers 410 

The Winter of Life 411 

To Mary 412 

The Highland Widow's Lament 412 

Welrome to General Dumourier 413 

Caledonia 414 

Is there for honest Poverty 415 

OLassie .artthouSleepingyet? 416 



PAGi 

Her Answer 417 

Bonnie Peg-a-Ramsay 417 

There was a bonnie Lass 418 

O, Mally's meek, Mally's sweet 418 

Aduress to the Woodlark 419 

On Chloris being 111 419 

Their Groves o' sweet Myrtle 420 

'Twas na her bonnie Blue E'e 420 

How Cruel are the Parents 421 

Mark yonder Pomp 421 

My ain Lassie 422 

Now Spring has Clad the Grove in 

Green 423 

O, bonnie was yon rosy Brier 424 

Forlorn, my Love, no Comfort near 424 

Last May a braw Wooer 425 

Chloris 426 

O, whistle, and I '11 come to you 426 

A down winding Nith 427 

The Ruined Maid's Lament 428 

Song 429 

Her Flowing Locks 429 

The Discreet Hmt 430 

Deluded Swain, the Pleasure 430 

Farewell, thou Stream ! 431 

Hey for a Lasswi' a Tocher! 431 

My ain kind Dearie, O ! 432 

My lovely Nancy 433 

Ca' the Yowes to the Knowes 433 

Jessy 434 

A red, red Ro.se 435 

Fairest Maid on Devon Banks 435 

Craigie-bum Wood 436 



SATIRES. 

The Holy Fair 437 

Death and Doctor Hornbook 443 

The Ordination 449 

The Calf 452 

Address to the Unco Guid, or the 

Rigidly Righteous 453 

A Dream 465 

Ode. Sacred to the Memory of Mrs. 

Oswald, of Auchincruive 459 

The Kirk's Alarm 460 

The Twa Herds ; or. The Holy Tulzie 463 

Holy Willie's Prayer 466 

Epitaph on Holy Willie 469 

Address of Beelzebub to the Presi- 
dent of the Highland Society 470 

Stanzas on the Duke of Queens- 
berry 471 

Sketch of a Character 472 

Moiiody on a Lady famed for her 
Caprice 472 



EPITAPHS, EPIGRAMS, EXTEM- 
PORE POEMS, Etc. 

Epitaph on my Father 474 

Epitaph on John Dove, Innkeeper, 

Mauchline 474 

Epitaph on John Bushby, Writer in 

Dumfries ..,. 474 



CONTENTS. 



Epitaph on a Wag in Mauchline 475 

Epitaph ou acelebr.ted Ruling El- 
der 475 

Epitaph for Robert Aiken, Esq. 475 

Epihipli for Gavin Hamilton, Esq.... 475 

A Bard's Epitap'i 475 

Epitaph on a Kiiend 476 

A Grace liefore Dinner 476 

On Tarn the Chapman 477 

AFar.well 477 

On Burns's Horse being Impounded 

by the Mayor of Carlisle 477 

On Wee Johntiy 478 

Epigram on Bacon 478 

Verses to J Rankine 478 

Verses to John Rankine , 479 

On a Noisy Polemic 479 

Jn a Noted Coxcomb 479 

On Miss Jean Scott, of Ecclefechan... 479 
On a Hen-pecked Country Squire ... 480 

On the same 480 

On the same 480 

The Highland Welcome 4S0 

Verses written on a Window of the 

Inu at Carron... 481 

iines on Viewing Stirling Palace ... 481 

The Poet's Self-reproof 481 

LinfiS written under the Picture of 

the celebrated Miss Burns 481 

Reply to the Minister of Gladsmuir 482 

Johnny Peep 482 

The Hen-pecked Husband 482 

On Incivility shown him at Inve 

rary 483 

On Elphinstone's Translations of 

Martial's Epigrams 483 

On a Schoolmaster .. 483 

On Andrew Turner 483 

On Mr. W. Cruikshanks 484 

On Wat 484 

On Captain Francis Grose 484 

On the Kirk of Lamington, in 

Clydesdale 484 

Lipes written on a Pane of Glass in 
the Inn at Moffat, on being a>ked 
why God had made the beautiful 
Miss Davies so little and the friend 

who was with her so tall 485 

Lines spoken Extempore, on being 

appointed to the Excise 485 

Verses addressed to the Landlady of 

the Inn at Rosslyn 485 

Epitaph on W 485 

On Mrs. Kemble, written Extem- 
pore on seeing her act in the part 

of Yarico, 1794 486 

Inscription on a Goblet 480 

Poetical Reply to an Invitation 486 

Another 486 

A Mother's Address to her Infant ... 487 

The Creed of Poverty 487 

Written in a Lady's Pocket-book ... 4h7 

The Parson's Looks 487 

Extempore, pinned to a Lady's Coach 487 

On Robert Riddel 488 

Impromptu, on Mrs. Riddel's birth- 
day, November 4, 1793 .- 488 



PAOB 

Extempore, on the late Mr. William 

Smellie 488 

Extempore, to Mr. Syme 489 

To Mr. Synie 489 

On a Person n'ck named "The Mar- 
quis," the landlord of a public- 
house in Dumfries 489 

On Excisemen ; lines written on a 

window in Dumfries 489 

Lines written on a, Pane of Glass, on 
the occasion of a National Thanks- 
giving for a Naval Victory 490 

Verse written on a Window of the 

Globe Tavern, Dimifries 490 

Invitation to a Medical Gentleman, 
to attend a Masonic Anniversary 

meeting 490 

War *. 490 

Drinking 491 

The Selkirk Grace 491 

Innocence 491 

On the Poet's Daughter, who died 

1795 491 

On Gabriel Richardson, brewer, 

Dumfries 492 

On tlie Death of a Lap-dog named 

"Echo" 492 

On Seeuigthe beautiful Seat of Lord 

Galloway 492 

On the same 492 

On the same 493 

To the same, on the Aut or being 

threatened with his resentment .. 493 
On a Country Laird ; an election 

snuib 493 

The Tnie Loyal Natives 493 

On a Suicide 494 

To Mrs. C , on receiving a work 

of Hannah More 494 

To Miss Jessy Lewara 494 

The Toast 495 

On the Sickness of Miss Jessy 

Lewars 495 

On the Recovery of Jessy Lewars ... 49^ 

The Bliek-headed Eagle 49 

A Bottle and an Honest Friend 49^, 

Grace after Dinner 490 

Another Grace 49ii 

To the Editor of "The Star." 496 

To Dr. Maxwell, on Miss Jessy Staig's 

Recovery 497 

The Piper 497 

Jenny M'Craw 497 

The i5ook- worms 497 

The Solemn League and Covenant ... 498 

Lines written at Loudon Manse 498 

The Two L.awyers 498 

To a Painter, whom he found paint- 
ing a Picture of Jacob's dream ... 499 

To John MMurdo, Esq 499 

To the same 499 

On a Sheep's Head . 499 

To a Lady, who was looking up the 

Text dvn-ing Sennon 500 

On the Illness of a favourite Child .. 500 
Epitaph on Robert Fergussoii, 
Poet 6O0 






CONTENTS. 



lAGE 

Verses written under the Portrait 
of Fergusson, tbe Poet, in ;i copy 
of that author's works presented 
to a young lady in Edinbuigh, 

March 17, 1787 501 

Lines written on a Tumbler 501 

F-pitaph on William Nicol 501 

To some People who w. re Boasting 

of their grand Acquaintances 501 

Elegy on the Death of Robert Ruis- 

seaux 502 

Lines to John Raukine 502 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONGS 
AND BALLADS. 

The Highland Queen 503 

Bess the Gawkie 504 

O, open the Door, Lord Gregory 505 

The Banks of the Tweed 506 

The Beds of Sweet Roses 506 

Roslin Castle 507 

Roslin Castle (second versioBi) .. . 5U8 
Saw ye Johnnie Cumuiin ? quo' she 509 

Clout the Caldron 509 

Saw ye nae my Peggy ? 511 

The Flowers of Edinburgh 512 

Jamie Gay 613 

My dear Jockey 513 

Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae 514 

The Lass of Livingston. , ... 515 

The Last Time I came o'er the Moor 517 

Johnnie's Grey Ureeks 518 

The Happy Marriage 519 

The Lass of Patie's Mill 519 

The Turnim.spike 520 

Highland Laddie 522 

The Gentle Swain 523 

He stole my tender Heart away 524 

Fairest of the Fair 524 

The Blaithrieo't 525 

May Eve, or Kate of Aberdeen 526 

Tweed-side 527 

Crawford's Song 528 

The Posie 529 

Mary's Dream 530 

The Maid that tends the Goats 531 

4 wish my Love were in a Mire 531 

Allan Water 532 

There's nae Luck about the House 533 

Tan-y Woo' 534 

Graniac ree 534 

The Collier's Bonnie Lassie 586 

My ain kind Dearie, O 537 

Mary Scotr, the Flower of Yarrow... 538 

Down the Burn, Davie 539 

Blink over the Bum, sweet Bettie 539 

The Blithesome Bridal 539 

John Hay's Bonnie Lassie 541 

The Bonnie Brucket Lassie 541 

Sae merry as we Twa ha'e been 542 

The anks of Forth 543 

The Bush aboon Iraquair 544 

Cromleck's Lilt 645 



PAGE 

My Dearie, if thou Die 547 

She rose an. I let me in 548 

WiUyego totheEwe-bughts, Marion? 549 

Lewis Gordon 549 

The Waukhig o' the Fauld 550 

Oh ono Chrio 561 

I 11 never Leave thee 552 

Corn-Rigs are Bonnie 552 

The Mucking o' Geordie's Byre 552 

Bide ye yet 552 

Tranent-Muir 554 

Pohvart, on the Green 565 

StrcpLon and Lydia 555 

My jo, Janet 566 

Love is the Cause of my Mi>iu-ning.. 557 

Fife, and a' the Lands iibor.t it 568 

Were na my Heart li/ht I wad die... 559 

The Young .Man's Dro.un 500 

The Tears of Scotland 501 

Ah ! the poor Sheijhcrd's mournful 

Fate 503 

Mill, MUl, O 563 

We ran ami they raa 564 

Waly, waly 564 

Duncan Gray 56.5 

Dumbarton Drums 565 

Cauld Kail in Aberdeen 566 

For Lack cf Gold 568 

Here 's a Health to mv True Love ... 568 

Hey Tutti Taiti " 569 

Take your auld Cloak about ye 569 

Ye gods ! was Strephon's Picture 

blest? 570 

Since Robbed of all that Charmed 

my View 571 

Young D imon 572 

Kirk wad let me be 572 

Johnny F;ut, or the Gypsie Laddie... 574 

To daunton me 575 

Absence 570 

I had a Horse, and I h.id nae mair . . 576 

Up and Warn a', Willie 577 

Auld Rob Morris 577 

Nancy sGho.st 579 

Tune your Fiddles 579 

Gil Morice 580 

When I upon thy Bosom lean 581 

The Highland Character; or, Garb 

of Old Gaul 582 

Leader-Haughs and Yarrow 583 

This is no my ain House 585 

Laddie, lie near me 5S5 

The Gaberlunzie Man 586 

The Black Eagle 588 

Johnnie Cope 589 

Cease, cease, my dear Frienfl, to 

explore 690 

Auld Robin Gray 591 

Donald and Flora 592 

The Captive Riband 594 

The Bridal o't 594 

Todlen Hame 595 

The Shepherd's Preference 596 

John o' B-idenyond 597 

A Waukrife Minnie 598 

TuUochgorum 59.'l 

The Ewie wi' the Crookit Ho'n 601 



c 



CONTENTS. 



PAGR 

Hughie Graham 603 

A Soutbland Jenny 605 

My Tocher "s the Jewel 605 

Then, Guidwife, count, the I.awfai .. 605 

The Soger Laddie 606 

Where wad Bonnie Annie lie ? 606 

GaJlowayTam 607 



»A08 

As I cam' down by yon Castle wa' ... 608 

Lord Ron.ild, my Son 609 

O'er the Moor amang the Heather ... 609 

To the Rosebud 610 

The Tears I Shed must ever Fall 611 

Dainty Davie 612 

Bob o' Dumblane 6i< 



r^Li^ 



t 



XL 



PEEFACE TO THE FIRST, OK KILMARNOCK, 
EDiTluN. 

(JuLT, 1786.) 

The following trifles are not the production of the Poet, who, with all 
the advantages of learned art, and, perhaps, amid the eleg-ancies and 
idlene.-s of uppwr life, lool<8 down for a rural theme, with an eye to 
Theocritus or Virgil. To tiie Author of this, these, and other oelebVaied 
names, their eouutrymeu aie, at Ifast in their original language, "a 
fountain shut up, and a book sealed." Unacquainted with the iiecsssary 
reqni-ites tor commencing pnet by rule, he sinys the sentiments and 
manners he felt and saw in himself and his rustic compeers around him, 
in his and their native languajo. Though a rhymer from his earliest 
years, at least from the e^trlipst impulse of the softer passions, it was 
not till very lately tliat the applause, perhaps the partiality, of friend- 
ship, awakened his vanity so tar as to make him tnink atiything of his 
worth showing: and none oi' the following works were compo.-ed with a 
view to the [(ress. To amuse himself wvh the little creations of his 
own fancy, amid the toil and fatigue of a laborious lite ; to transcribe 
the vaiious feelings — the loves, ttie griefs, the hopes, the fears — in his 
own breast; to find some kind of counterpoise to the struggles of a 
world, always an alien scene, a tisk uncouth to the poetical mind — 
these were his motives for courting the Muses, and in these he fuui.d 
Poetry to be its own reward. 

Now that he »ppears in the public character of an Author, he does it 
with fear and trembling. So dear is fame to the rhyming tribe, that 
even lie, an obscure, umr.eless Bard, shrinks aghast at the thought of 
being branded as — an impertinent blockhead, obti uding his nonsense on 
the world ; and, bacause ho can make shift to jingle a few do^geri'l 
Scottish rhymes together, looking upon himself as a poet, of no suiail 
^on^'equence, forsooth! 

It is an ob.^ervation of that celebrated poet. Sbenstone, who?e divsu? 
E egies do honour to our language, our nation, and our specie-., that 
" Humility has depres^ed many a genius to a hermit, but nevt-r rai>;'3d 
one to lame ! " If any critic catches at the -vYOrd Genius, the author t^ellp 
him, once for all, that he certainly looks upon him-elf as pof,ses-ed of 
some poetic abilities, otherwise his publishing, m the manner ne has 
done, would be a manoeuvre below the worst character which, be hopes, 
hir* worst enemy will ever give him. But to the geni'is of a IL^jmsaj, or 
ihe glorious dawnings of the poor unfortunate Ferguj-S'oii, he, with 
equal unaffect.ei sincerity, declares that, even in his highe.-t pulse of 
vanity, he has not the laost distant pretensions. Tnejie two justly 
admired Sco tish poets he has often bad in his eye in the following 
pieces ; but rather with a view to kindle at their flame thai', for servile 
imitation. 

To his Subscribers the Author returns his most s-iucere thanks. Not 
the mercenary bow over a counter, but the heart thro I bmg gratitude of 
the Bard, conscious how much he owes to benevol'inco and friendship 
for gratifying him, if he deserves it, in that dep.rest wish of every 
poetic bosom — to be distinguished. He begs his readers, particularly 
the learned and the polite, who may homuir him with a perusal, that 
they will make every allowance for education and circumstances of life; 
but if, alter a fair, candii, and impartial criticism, he shall stand con- 
victed of dulness and nonsense, let him be done by as he would in that 
case do by others — let him be condemued, without; mercy, to contempt 
and oblivion. 



n 



sii 



DEDICATION TO THE SECOND, OR EDINBURGH 
EDITION OF THE POEMS OP BURNS. 



TO THE NOBLEMEN AND GENTLEMEN OF THE CALEDONIAN 
HUNT. 

Mr Lords and Gentle jien, — 

A Scottish Baku, ikoucI of the name, and whose highest ambition 
is to sing in his Conntiy's service — where shall he so properly look for 
patronage as to the illustrious names of his native land ; those who bear 
the honours and inherit the virtues of their ancestors ? The Poetic Genius 
of my Country found me, as the prophetic bard Elijah did Elisha — at the 
PLOUGH ; and threw her inspiring mantle over me. She bade me sing the 
loves, the joys, the rural scenes and rural pleasures of my native soil, in 
my native tongue : I tuned my wild, artless notes as she inspired. She 
whispered me to come to this aiicient Metropolis of Caledonia, and lay my 
Songs under your honoured protection : I now obey her dictates. 

Though much indebted to your goodness, I do not approach you, my 
Lords and Gentlemen, in the usual style of dedication, to thank you for 
past favours : that path is so hackneyed by prostituted learning, that 
honest Rusti-ity is ashamed of it. Nor do I present this Address with 
the venal .soul of a servile author, looking for a continuation of those 
favours : I was bred to the plough, and am independent. I come to claim 
the common Scottish name with you, my illustrious Countrymen ; and to 
tell the world that I glory in the title. I come to congi-atulate my 
country, that the bLod of her ancient heroes still runs uncontaminated ; 
and that, from your courage, knowledge, and ijubiic spirit, she may expect 
protection, v.ealtb, and liberty. In the last place, I come to proffer my 
warmest wishes to the (ireat Fountain of Honour, the Monarch of the 
Universe, for your welfare and happiness. 

When you go forth to waken the Echoes, in the ancient and favourite 
amusement of your forefathers, may Pleasure ever be of your party : and 
may Social Joy await youi- return ! When harassed in courts or camps with 
the jostiings of bad men ami bad measures, may the honest consciousness 
of injured Worth attend your return to your native seats ; and may 
Domestic Htippiness, with a smiling welcome, meet you at your gates ! 
May Corruption shrink at your kindling indignant glance ; and may 
tyranny in the Kuler, and licentiousness iu the People, equally find you 
an inexorable foe ! 

I have the honour to be, 

With the sineere.st gr.ititude, and highest respect, 
My Lords and Gentlemen, 
Your most devoted, humble Servant, 

BUBEllT BUIINS. 
Edhibur'jh, April 4, 1787. 



mxm d fxohtxt ^itnts. 



On the 25th of January, 175!) — in a clay cottage near the bridge 
of Doon. Ayrshire — was born Robert Burus, tlie great Poet of 
Sciitiiind. There is a ti-aclition that his father, riding in haste to 
fetch the doctor, rnet ou ihe rivt-r-brink a wandering mendicant, 
who entreated his aid to help her across the swollen stream. 
The good-natured Scotsman comi^lied : and the same woman, it 
is said, seeking hosjiitality in his own cottage, uttered a prophecy 
over the uewly-born babe, \AhiirJi was rifterwards well fulhlled. 
There is some confirmation of this apocryphal legend in Burns's 
song of " liijbin," in which he dates the circumstance of the 
gipsy's prophecy from the day of his own birth, — 

** Our monarch's liiudraost year but one 

(i.e. George II. died in ITdO, liobin was born 1759,) 

Was five-and-twenty days begun, 

(i e. January 25.) 

'Twas then a blast o' Janwar' win' 
Blew handsel in on Robin." (p. 269.) 

The state of the weather, also, agrees with the (inte of his birth, 
for it was in the midst of winter stnrras that the gii'icd, but ill-1'iited 
genius saw the light Gilbert Burns, Robert s brotiier, tells Dr. 
Currie tlie following incident of the Poet's babyhood : " When 
my fattier," he says, '• built his clay bigging, he put in two stone 
j^mbs. as they are called, and a lintel carrying up a chimney in 
hi.s clay gable. Tlie consequence was. that as tlie gable sub- 
sided, the jambs, remaining firm, threw it off its centre ; and one 
very stormy morning, when my brother was nine or ten days old. 
a little before daylight, a part of the gable fell out, and the rest 
:i;>peared so shattered, that my moLher, with the youn;,' Poet, had 
to be carried througli the stirm to a neighbour's b.onse, v,'here 
iiiev remaiiiSd a week till their own dwelling was adjusted." 



xiv MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. 

The father of Robert Burns y/a"s William Burness (tlms 4ie 
Bpelt his name), and was born in Kincardineshire. He was broiij^ht 
up on the estate of Dunnottar, belonging to the Keiths (Eari8 
Marischal), who forfeited it by adhering to the cause of the 
Stuarts, in 1716. The Burness family' shared the misfortunes 
of their chief, and WilJiam and a younger son, Robert, left their 
paternal home to seek their fortunes in Edinburgh and England. 
" I have often," says Gilbert Burns, " heard my father describt^ 
the anguish of mind he felt when they parted on the top of a hill 
on the confines of their native place, each going off his sevei-al 
way in search of new adventures, and scarcely knowing whither 
he went. My fat'ier undertook to act as a gardener, and shapnd 
his course to Edinburgh, where he wrought hard, when he could 
get work, passing tlirough a variety of difficulties. Still, how- 
ever, he endeavoured to spare sometliing for the support of his 
aged parents; and I recollect hearing him mention his having 
sent a bank-note for tliis purpose, when money of that kind was 
so scarce in Kincardineshire, tjiat they scarcely knew how to 
employ it when it arrived." 

William Burness moved from Edinburgh westward into the 
county of Ayr. where he engaged himself as a gardener to the 
Laird of Fairlie, with whom he lived two years ; he then changed 
his service for that of Crawford of Dnonside. At length, being 
desirous of marrying and settling, he took a pel-petual lease of 
seven acres of land from Dr. Campbell, a physician iu Ayr, with 
the view of commencing as nurseryman and public gardener. 
Here he built with his own hands a clay bigiiing. or cottage, to 
whicli he brought his Mufe, Agnes Brown, the daughter of a 
Carrick farmer ; and here Burns was born. 

The Poet has given a brief account of his life, up to the period 
when his fame first dawned, in a letter to Dr. Moore, the author 
of the well-known novel ' Zeliico." We insert it as an inte- 
resting (it is assuredly the most authentic) record of his child- 
hood and youtli : — 

" I have not the most distant pretensions," says Burns, in this 
epistle, " to assume that character which the pye-coated guardians 
of escutcheons call a gentleman. When at Edinbtu-gh last winter, 
I got acquainted iu the Herald's Office, and looking through tliat 
granary of honours, 1 found tliere almost every nanie in the king- 
dom ; but for me, — 

" ' My ancient but ignoble blood 
Has crept through scoundrels ever since the Flood.' 

Gules, purpure, argent, &c., quite disowned me. 

'■ My lather was of the north of Scotland, the son of a farmer, 
and was Ihrown by early misfortunes on the world at large,' 

' In the original letter to Dr. Moore, our Poet described his ancestors 
gs "renting lands of the noble Keiths of Marischal, and as having had 



_Jir" 



MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. xv 

where, after many years' wanderings and sojournings, he picked 
up a pretty large quantity of observation and experience, to which 
I am indebted for most of my Httle pretensions to wisdom. I 
have met with few who undeistood men, their manners, and their 
ways, equal to him ; but stubborn ungainly integiitv, and head- 
long ungovernable irascibility, are disqualifying circumstances ; 
consequently I was born a very poor man's son. For the first 
six or seven years of my life my father was gardener to a wortliy 
gentleman of small estate, in the neighbourliood of Avr. Had 
he continued in that station, I must have marched off to be one 
of the little underhngs about a farmhouse ; but it was his d^'arest 
wish and prayer to have it in bis power to keep his children 
under his own eye till they could discern between good and evil ; 
so, with the assistance of his generous master, my father ventured 
on a small farm on his estate. At those years I was by no means 
a favourite with anybody. I was a good deal noted for a reten- 
tive memory, a stubborn, sturdy something in my disposition, and 
an enthusiastic idiot piety. I say idiot piety, because I was then 
but a child. Though it cost the schoolmaster some thrashings, 
I made an excellent English scholar, and by the time I was ten 
or eleven years of age, I was a critic in substantives, verbs, and 
particles. In my infant and boyish days, too, I owed much to an 
old woman ' who resided hi the i'amily, remarkable for her igno- 
rance, crediiUty, and superstition. She had, I suppose, the largest 
collection in the country of tales and songs concerning devils, 
ghosts, fairies, brownies, witches, warlocks, spunkies, kelpies, elf- 
candles, dead-lights, wraiths, apparitions, cantraips, giants, en- 
chanted towers, dragons, and other trumpery. Tliis cultivated 
the latent seeds of poetry, but had so strong an effect on my 
imagination, that to this hour, in my nocturnal rambles. I some- 
times keep a sharp look-out in suspicious places ; and though 

the honour of sharing their fate." "I do not," continues he, "use the 
word honour with any reference to political principles : loijal and disloyal 
I take to be merely relative terms, in that ancient and formidable court, 
known in this country by the name of Club-law, where the right is always 
with the strongest. But those who dare welcome ruin, and shake hands 
with infamy, for what they sincerely believe to be the cause of their 
God, or their king, are, as Mark Antony says, in Shakspeare, of Brutus 
and Cassius, 'honourable men.' I mention this circumstance, because it 
threw my father on the world at large." This paragraph was omitted by 
Dr. Currie, at the desire of Gilbert Burns, who thought the Poet was 
mistaken, but subsequent information renders it probable that Robert 
was better informed on the subject than his brother. 

' The name of this old woman was Betty Davidson ; she was the widow 
of a cousin of Mrs Burns, and dependent on her son. His wife treated 
her unkindly, and good William Burness, from compassion, had her to stay 
for a few months at a time in his house. He little thought how greatly 
the imagination of his little son would be stirred and awakened by the poor 
dependant. 



ivt MEMOlli UF ROBERT BURNS. 

nobody can be more sceptical than I am in such matters, yet it often 
takes im effort of ptiilosophy to x\\Ake off these idle terrors. The 
eaihest composiiiou that I recollect taking pleasure in, was 'The 
Vision of Mrza, sind a hymn of Addison's, be-^inning 'How are 
thy servants Idest. Lord ! ' I partic'd^irly remember one half- 
stanza, v.liich was music to ray boyish ear, — 

" ' For though on dreadful whirls we hung 
Hijjh on the broken wave ' 

I met with these pieces in ' Mason's Englisli Collection,' one of 
my school-books. The first two books I ever read in private, and 
which gave me raor« pleasure than any two b^oks I ever read 
since, wexe. 'The Life of Hanidbal,' and 'The History of Sir 
William Wdlace.' Hannibal gave my young ideas sucli a turn, 
that I used to strut in raptures up and down after the recruiting 
drum and bagpipe, and wisli myself tall enougli to be a soldier; 
while ti.e story of Wallace pDiired a Scottish prejudice into my 
veins, whi h will boil along there till the floodgates of life shut 
in eternal rest. 

"Polemicrtl divinity about this tune was putting the country 
half mad; and I, ambitious of shming in conversation parties 
on Sundays, between sermons, ar funerals, &c., used, a few years 
afterwards, to puzzle Calvinism with so much heat and indiscre- 
tion, that I raised a liue-aud-cry of heresy against me, which has 
not ceased to this hour. 

" My vicinity to Ayr was of some advantage to me. My social 
disposition, when not check^'d by some modifications of spirited 
pride, was, like our catechism definition of infinitude, " without 
b')unds or limits.' I formed several coniiecti(jns vvitli other 
younkers who possessed supi-rior advantages — -the youngling 
actors, who were busy in the rehearsal of paits in which they 
Were shortly to appear on the stage of life, where, alas ! I was 
destined to drudgr^ behind the scenes. It is not commonly at 
this 'jrren age that our young gentry have a just s^-nse of the 
unmense distance between them and their ragged pla\ fellows. 
It takes a few dashes into tlie world to give the young grear. man 
idiat proper, decent, unnoticing disregard for the poor insigni- 
ficiUit stupid devils, the mechanics and peasantry' around him, 
who were perhaps born in the same village. My young superiors 
never insulted the clouterly appeai-ance of my ploughboy carcase, 
the two extremes of which were often exposed to all the incle- 
mencies of all the seasons Tliey would give me stray volumes 
of books : among them, even then, I could pick up some oliser- 
vati'ins; and one. whoso heart I am sure not even the ' Munny 
Begun?, ' scenes have tainted, lielped me to a little French. 
Parting with these mj^ young friends and benel'actora, as tliey 
:iccasionaIly went oft" for the Eat^t or West Indies, was often to 
!i;o a sore affliction, but I ^as soon called to more serious evils. 



MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. xvL 

My father's generous master died ; the farm proved a ruinous 
bargain ; and, to clench the misfortune, we fell into the hands of 
?/, factor, who sat for the picture I have drawn of one in my 
'Tale of Twa Dogs.' My father was advanced in life when he 
married ; I was the eldest of seven children ; and he, worn out 
by early hardships, was unfit ior lab'iur. My father's spirit was 
soon uTitated, but not easilj'' brokt-n. There was a freedom in 
his lease in two years more ; and, to weather these two years, we 
retrenched our expenses. We lived very poorly : I was a dex- 
terous ploughmen for my age, and the nest eldest to me was a 
brother (Gilbert), who could drive the plough very well, and help 
me to thrash the corn. A novel writer might perhaps have 
viewed these scenes with some sa'isfaciion ; but so did not I. My 

indignation yet boils at the recollection of the s 1 factor's 

insolent threatening letters, which used to set us all in tears. 

• This kind ot life — the cheerless gloom of a hermit, with the 
unceasing moil of a galley' slave — brought me to my sixteenth 
year, a little before which period I tirst committed the sin of 
rhyme. You know our country custom of coupUng a man and 
a woman together as partners in the labuiu'S of harvest. In my 
fifteenth autumn my partner was a bewitcliing creature, a year 
younger than myself. My scarcity of English denies me the 
power of doing her justice in that language ; but }0u know tlie 
Scoitish ifliom — she was a bonnie, sweet, sonsie lass. In short, 
she. altogether unwittingly to herself, initialed me in that delicious 
passion, which, in spite of acid disappointment, gin-'iorse pru- 
dence, and bookworm philosophy, I Imld to be the iirst of human 
joys, our dearest blessuig heie below! How she caught the con- 
tagiiin I cannot tell: you niedi<al people talk much i>f infection 
fi'om breathing the same air. ihe touch, &c., but I nev er expressly 
said I loved her. Indeed I did not know myself why I liked so 
much to loiter behind with her when returning in the evening 
fi'om our lal)ours; why the tones of her voice made my heart- 
strings thrill hke an iEolian harp; and particularly why my 
pulse beat such a furious rattan when I looked and fingered over 
her little hand to pick out the cruel nettle-stings and thistles. 
Amonj her other love-inspiring qualities, she sang sweetly ; and 
it was her favourite reel to which I attenipjed j:iving an embodied 
vehicle in rlwme. I was not so presumi)tuous as to imagine that 
.. could make verses like printed ones, composed by men who 
had Greek and Latin ; but my girl sany; a song, which was said 
to be com|iosed by a small country laird s son, on one of his 
father's maids, with whom he was in love : and I saw no reason 
why I might not rhyme as well as he; for, excepting that hd 
cotild smear sheep, and cast peats, his father living in the moor- 
lands, he had no mor.' scholar-craft than myself. 

*• Thus with me began love and poetrx , which at times have 
been my only, and till within the last twelve months, have been 
my highest enjoyment- My father struggled on till he reached 

b 



ILJ 



JIL 



xviii MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. 

the freedom in his lease, when he entered on a lai'ger ferm, 
about ten miles farther in the country. The nature of the bar- 
gain he made was su h as to throw a little ready-money into his 
hands at the commencement of his lease, otherwise the affaif 
would have been impracticable. For four years we lived comfor- 
tably here, but a difference commencing between him and his 
landlord as to terms, alter three years tossing and whirling in 
the vortex of litigation, my father was just saved from the horrors 
of a JHil by a consumption, which, after two years' promises, 
kindly stepped in, and carried him away to 'where the wicked 
cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.' 

" It is during the time that we lived on this farm that my little 
story is most eventful. I was, at the beginning of this period, 
perhaps the most ungainly, awkward boy in the parish— no 
solitaire was less acquainted with the ways of the world. What 
I knew of ancient story was gathered from Salmon's and 
Gutlirie's geographical grammars ; and the ideas I had formed 
of modern manners, of literature and criticism, I got from the 
Spentdtor. These, with ' Pope's Works,' some plays of 
Shakspeare, ' TuU and Dickson on Agriculture,' ' The Pan- 
theon,' ' Locke's Essay on tlie Human Understanding, ' Stack- 
house's History of the Bible,' ' Justice's British Gardener's 
Directory,' 'Boyle's Lectui'es,' 'Allan Ramsay's Works,' 'Tay- 
lor's Scripture Doctrine of Original Sin,' ' A Select Collection 
of English Songs,' and ' Hervey's Meditations,' had formed 
the whole of my reading. The collection of songs was my vade 
mecum. I pored over them driving my cart, or walking to labour, 
Bong by song, verse by verse; carefully noting the true, tender, 
or sublime from affectation and fustian. I am convinced I owe 
to this practice much of my critic craft, such as it is. 

" In my seventeenth year, to give my manners a brush, I went 
to a country dancing-school. My father had an unaccoimtable 
antipathy against these meetings ; and my going was, what to 
this moment I repent, in opposition to his wishes. My fatlier, as 
I said before, was sut>ject to strong passions: from that instance 
of disobedience in me he took a sort of dislike to me, which I 
believe was one cause of the dissipation which marked my suc- 
ceeding years. I say dissipation, comparatively with the strict- 
ness, and sobrietj', and regularity of preshyterian country life ; 
for, thouy;h the will-o'-wisp meteors of thoughtless whim were 
almost tlie sole ligl)ts of my path, yet early ingrained piety and 
virtue kept me for several years afterwards within the line of 
innocence. The great misfortune of mv life was to want an aim. 
I had felt early some stirrinys of ambition, but they were the 
bhnd gropings of Homer's Cyclops round the waHs of his cave. 
I saw my father's situation entailed on me perpetual labour. 
The only two openings by which I could enter the temple of 
Fortune were the gate of niggardly economy, or the path of 
ittle chicaning bargain-making. Tlie first is so contracted aa 



a 



MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. xix 

aperture, I never could squeeze myself into it; the last I 
always liated — there was contamination in the very entrance ! 
Tlnis abandoned of aim or view in life, with a strong appetite for 
sociability, as well from native hihirity as from a pride of obser- 
vation and remark ; a constitutional melancholy or hj'pochon- 
driasm that made me fly solitude ; add to these incentives to 
social life my reputation for bookish knowledge, a certain wild 
logical talent, and a strength of thought, something hke the 
rirdiments of g<iod sense ; and it will not seem surprising that I 
was generally a welcome guest where I visited, or any great 
wonder that, always where two or three met together, tliere was 
I among them. But far beyond all other impulses of my heart 
was un penchant a I adorable vwitie du r/evre huviain. My heart 
was completely tinder, and was eternal!}' lighted up by some 
goddess or other ; and, as in e^•erv other warfare in this world, my 
fortune was vaiions, sometimes I was received with ftivoiu'. and 
sometimes I was moiiafied mth a repulse. At the plough, 
scythe, or reap-hook I feared no competitor, and thus I set ab- 
solute want at <'( liance : and as I never cared further for mj' 
labours than \\hile I was in actual exercise, I spent the evenings 
in the way after my o'wn heai-t. A country lad seldom carries on 
a love-adventure without an assisting confidant. I possessed a 
cui'iosity, zeal, and intrepid dexterity that recommended me as 
a proper second on these occasions ; and I dare say I felf, as 
much pleasure in being in the secret of half the loves of the 
parish of Tarbolton as ever did statesman in knowing' the 
intrigues of hnlf the coTirts of Europe. The very goose-feather 
in my hand seems to know instinctively tlie well-worn path of 
my imagination, the favourite theme of my song; and is A^^th 
difficulty restrained from giving you a couple of paragraphs on 
the love adventures of my compeers, the humble inmates of the 
favm house and coitage ; but the grave sons of science, ambition, 
or avarice baptize these things by the name of Fellies. To the 
sons and daughters of labour and poverty they are matters of 
the most serious nature ; to tliem the ardent hope, the stolen 
interview, the tender farewell, are the gi-eatest and most delicious 
parts of their enjoyments. 

" Another circumstance in my life, which made some alteration 
in my mind and manners, was, that I spent my nineteenih 
summer on a smuggling coast, a good distance from home at a 
noted school, to learn mensuration, s-urveying, dialling, fzc, in 
which I made a pretty good proi,'re-s. Bxir I made a greater 
pi'ogress in the knowledge of mankind. The coiitrabMiid tr;ide 
was at that time very succpssfiil, and it sometimes happene'l to 
me to fall in wi'h those who carried it on. Scenes of swag^jeriui.' riot 
r.TiA roaring dissipation were till tliis time new to me ; but I was 
no enemy to social life. Here, though I learnt to fill my glass, 
and to mix without fear in a drunken squabble, yet I went on 
iv'ith a high hand with my geometr,s. till tlie sun entered Virgo. 



rx MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. 

a month wliicli is always a carnival in mybo3om; when a charm- 
ing fiJctte, who lived next door to the school, overset my tri- 
gduomeli-y, and set nie off at a tangent from the sphere of my 
studies. I, however, striigt^ded on with my sines and co-sines for 
a few days more : but, stejjpitig into tlie garden one chai'ming 
noon, to take the sun's altitude, thei'e I met my angel '- 

" ' Like Proserpine, gathering flowers, 
Herself a fairer flower. ' 

" It was in vain to think of doing any more good at school. 
The remaining week I staid I did notiiing but craze the faculties 
of my soul about her, or steal out to meet her ; and the last two 
nights of my stay in the country, had sleep been a mortal sin, 
the image of this modest and innocent girl had kept me guiltless. 

" I returned home very considerably improved. My reading 
was enlarged witli the very important addition of Tliomson's and 
Shenstone's works ; I had seen human nature in a new phasis ; 
and I engaged several of my schoolfellows to keep up a literary 
correspondence wiih me. Tiiis improved me in composition. I 
had met with a collection of letters by the wits of Queen Anne's 
reign, and I pored over them most devoutly. I kept cop'es of 
any of my own letters that pleased me : and a comparison 
between tliem and the composition of mo-t of my correspondents 
flattered my vanity. I carried tliis wliim so far that, tliougli I had 
not three fHrthings' worth of businesis in the world, yet almost 
every post brought me as many letters as if I had been a broad 
plodiii'.ig son of day-book and ledger. 

•' ;\Iy life flowed on much in the same course till my frsventy- 
thij-dyear. Vive /''iniour et vice la hiignttile ' were my sole prin- 
ciples of action. The addition of two more authors to my library 
gave me great pleasure: Sterne and M'Kenzie — 'Tristram 
Shandy' and ' The Man of Feeling' — were my bosom favourites. 
Poesy was swll a darling walk for my mind; but it was onlj^ in- 
dulgt.'d in according to the humour of the liour. I had usually 
hnlf a dozen or more jueces on hand ; I took up one or other as 
it suited ihe moriientary tone of the mind, and dismissed llie 
work as it bordered on fatigue. My passions, wlien once 
'ighted up, raged like so many devils, till they got veni in 
rh\me: and then the conning over my verses, like a spell, 
500tlied all into quiet ! None of the )hynies of those days ari^ in 
print, except 'Winter; a Dirge, the eldest of my' printed 
])ieces; 'Tiie Deatli of Poor MaiUie,' '.John Barleycorn.' and 
Songs first, second, and third. Song second was the ebulli- 
tion of tliat passion which ended the foreraentioned school- 
business. 

" My tw.'nty-third year was to me an impor'ant era. Partly 
through whim, and partly that I wished to set about doing spqiQ- 
' Peggie Thomson. 



OL 



MEMOIR OF ROBE FIT BURNS. xxi 

thing in life, I joined a flax-dresser in a neighbouring town 
(Irwiii). to learn his trade. This was an unlucky affair, and, to 
finish the whole, as we were giving a welcome carousal to the 
new year, the shop took fire, and burnt to ashes ; and I was left, 
like a true poet, not worth a sixpence. 

'■ I was obhged to give up tliis scheme : the clouds of mis- 
fortune were gathering thick round my father's head ; and, what 
was worst of all. he was visibly far gone in a consumption ; and. 
to cro\\Ti my distresses, a heile fille whom I adored, and who had 
pledged her soul to meet me in the field of matvimony, jilted me, 
with peculiar circumstances of mortification. The finishing evil 
that brouglit up the rear of iliis infernal file, was my constitu- 
tional melan("holy being increased to such a deg^^e3, that for 
three months I was in a state of mind scarcely to be envied by 
the hopeless ■wTetches who have got their mittimaG — ^Depart from 
\ae ye accursed ! 

•' From this adventure I learned something o^ p, town life ; but 
the principal thing which gave my mind a turn was a friendship 
I fo]'med ■Rath a 3'^oung fellow,' a very noble character, but a 
hapless son of misfortune. He was the son of a simple mechanic ; 
but a great man in the neighbourhood taking him under his 
patronage, gave him a genteel education, with a view of bettering 
his situation in li'e. The pati-on d^ing just as he was ready to 
launch out into the world, the poor fellow in despair went to sea; 
,Vhere, after a variety of good and ill fortune, a little before I was 
acquainted with him, he had been set on shore by an American 
privateer, on the wild coast of Connaught, stripped of every- 
thing. I cannot quit this poor fellow's story witliout adding, that 
he is at this time master of a large West-Indiaman belonging to 
the Thames, 

" His mind was fraught, with indepfnden&a, magnanimity and 
every m:inly virtue. I loved and admired him to a de^'iee of 
enthusiasm, and of cour^=e strove to imitate him. In po'.iie mea- 
sure I succt'oded. I had pride before, but he tauah'. A to fliw 
in profier channels. His knowledge of the worD A^as vastly 
superior to mine, and I was all attention to learn, fie was the 
only man I ever saw who was a jjreater fool (hg/j y^yself, wheie 
Vv'oman was the presiiiiri!.' star; but he spoke or^ ulicit love with 
the ic'vity of a sador, which hitherto I lidd rcjufied with horr ir. 
Here liis friendship did me a mischief, anci the consequence was, 
that soon Hfter I resumed the plough I wrotr' the ' Poet's Wel- 
come. ' My leading only increased, while in this town, by two 
stray volumes of "Pamela,' and one of 'Ferdinahd, Count 
Fatliom,' which gave me some idea of novels. Rhym-, except 
some religious pieces tliat "'-e in print, I had gi\cn up; imt 
meeting with Fergusson's Scottish Poems, I strung anew my 

' Bieliard Brown. 

» "The Poet's Welcome to his Illegitimate Child," p. 159. 






xxii MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. 

wildly soiiudiiif» lyre with emulating vigour. When my fathei 
died, his all went among the hell-liounds that prowl in the kennel 
of justice, but we made a shift to collect a little money iu the 
family amongst us, with which, to keep us together, my brother 
and I took a neighbouring farm. My brother wanted my hair- 
brained imagination, as well as mj social and amorous madness ; 
iiut in good sense, and every sober qualification, he was far ray 
superior. 

" I entered on this farm with a full resolution, ' Come, go to, I 
will be wise! ' I read farming books, I calculated crop^, I attended 
markets, and, in short, in spite of tiie devil, and the world, and the 
flesh, I believe I should liave been a wise man ; but the lirst year, 
from unfortunately buying bad seed, the second, from a la'e 
harvest, we lost half our crops. This overset all my wisdom, 
and I returned like the dog to his vomit, and the sow that was 
waslied to her waUowing in the mire.' 

" I now began to be known in the neighbourhood as a maker 
of rhymes. The first of ray poetic offspring that saw the light 
was a burlesque lamentation on a quarrel between two reverend 
Calvinists, both of them dramatis jiei'sona in my ' Holy Fair.' 
I had a notion myself that the piece had some merit ; but, to 
prevent the worst, I gHve a copy of it to a friend who was very 
fond of such things, and told him that I could not guess who was 
the author of it, hut that I thought it pretty clever. With a 
certain description of the clergy, as well as laity, it met with a 
roar of applause. ' Holy Willie's Prayer' next made its appear- 
ance, and alarmed the kirk-session so much, that they held 
several meetings to look over their spiritual artillery, if haply 
any of it might be pointed against profane rhymers. Unluckily 
for me, my wanderings led me on another side, within point- 
blank shot of their heaviest metal. This is the unfortunate 
story that gave rise to my printed poem, ' The Lament.' This 
was a most melancholy affair, which I cannot yet bear to reflect 
on, and had vi-ry nearly given me one or two of the piin(!ipal 
qualilications for a place among those who liave lost the chart, 
and mistaken the reckoning of rationality. I gave uj) ray part 
of the farm to my brother — in truth it was only nomiuHllv mine, 
and made what little preparation was in my power for Jamaica. 
But before leaving ray native country for ever, I resolved to 
publish my poems. I weighed my producti'ins as impartially as 
was in my power; I thought they had merit; and it v>'as a deli- 
cious idea that I should be called a clever fellow, even though it 
should never I'each my ears — a poor negro driver, or perhaps a 

' At tbe time that our Poet took the resolution of becoming wise, he 
procurec? a little book of blank paper, with the purpose (expresseii on the 
first page) of making farming memoranda upon it. These farming memo- 
randa are curious enough ; many of the^ra have been written with a pencil, 
and are now obliterated, or at least illegible. 



MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. xxiii 

victim to that inhospitable clime, and }>one to the world of spirits ! 
I can truly say that, pauvre inconnu as I then was, I had pretty 
nearly hs liigh an idea of myself and of my works as I have 
at this moment, when the public has decided in their favour. It 
ever was my opinion, that the mistakes and blunders, both in a 
rational and religious point of view, of which we see thousands 
daily Ruilty, are o\ving to their ignorance of tliemselves. To know 
myself had been all along my constant study. I weighed myself 
alone ; I balanced m\ self with others ; I watched every means 
of inCormntion, to see how much ground I occupied as a man 
and as a poet. I studied assiduously Nature's design in my for- 
mation — where the lights and shades in my character were in- 
tended. I was pretty confident my poems would meet with some 
applause ; but, at the worst, the roar of the Atlantic would deafen 
the voice of censure, and the novelty of West Indian scenes 
make me forget neglect. I threw off six hundred copies, of 
which I had got subscrijitions for about three hundred and fifty. 
My vanity was highly gratified by the reception I met with from 
the public, and besides I pocketed — all expenses deducted — nearly 
twenty pounds. This sum came very seasonably, as I was 
thinking of indenting myself, for want of money, to procure my 
passage. As soon as I was master of nine guineas, the price of 
wafiiiig me to the torrid zone, I took a steernge passage in ihn 
first ship that was to sail from the Clyde, for — 

" ' Hungry ruin had me in the wind.' 

"I had been for some days skulking from covert to covert, 
under all the terrors of a jail, as some ill-advit^ed people had un- 
coupled the merciless pa -k of the law at my heels. 1 had takeu 
the last farewell of my few frit-nds ; my chest whs on the road to 
Greenock; I had composed the last song I should ever measure 
in Caledonia — ' Tiie gloomy night is gathering fast' — when a 
letter from Dr. Blacklock to a Iriend of mine overthrew all my 
echeraes, by opening new prospects to my poetic ambition. The 
Doctor belonged to a set of critics for whose applause I had not 
dared to hope. His opinion that I should meet with encournge- 
ment in Edinburgh for a second edition fired me so much, that 
away I posted fur that city, witliout a single acquaintance, or a 
single letter of introduction. The baneful star that had so long 
shed its blasting influence in my zenith, for once made a revolu- 
tion to the nadir, and a kind Providence placed me under the 
patronage of one of the noblest of men, the Earl of Glencairn. 
Oublie moi, grand Dieu, si jamais je t'ouhlie ! 

" I need relate no further. At Edinburgh I was in a new 
world. I minyled among many classes of men, but all of them 
new to me, and I was all attention to catch the characters, and 
th»- manners living, as they rise. Whether I have profited, time 
will show." 



r 



xxiv MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. 

The Poet has omitted from his autobiogrnphy an episode to 
which we are indebted for one of tlie finest of his lyrics. 

Burns was, or he desf^ribes in his letter, in circnmstances of 
great misery. He had been forsaken by Jean Armour, Ht the bid- 
ding of her parents, and, in consequence of their mutual sin tsnd 
folly, he was nbout to become an exile from his beloved Scotland. 
One ray of light came to biightnn tlie gloom of tliai moment. 

There dwelt a dairymaid at Cdilslield, a modest, gentle, High- 
land maiden, with sweet blue eyes, and warm kind heart, of 
whose love for himself the Poet had doubtless some suspicion, 
though she was iar superior in modesty and intelligence to the 
women he had hitherto known. 

Her character must have commanded his respect as well as 
love, for he long cherished her mem>ry. She lived in the service 
of his friend Gavin Hamilton, but her pHrentaj^e was Hiyhlnnd. 
She came from the neighbourhood of Dunoon, on the Firth of 
Clyde. Her lather was a sailor in a revenue cutter, stationed off 
Campbelton, in Kintyre, where the family resided. At one period 
she had been daii'ymaid, afterwards she was nurse, at Coils- 
field. 

Mary consented to become the wife of Burns, and agi-eed to 
give up her place and return home at once and arrange matters 
for their mairiage. Before her departure the lovers met, on the 
second Sunday in Mwy, in a lonely spot on the banks of the Ayr. 
Mr. Cromek tells us thnt their adieux were solemn as well as 
tender. " The lovers stood on each side of a small purling 
brook; they laved their hands in the limpid stream, and, holding 
a Bible between them, pronounced their vows to each other." 
They then exchanged Bibles. In the blank leaf of the one which 
Burns gave to his betrothed he wrote, " And ye shall not swear by 
My n>ime falsely. I am the Lord. — Levit. xix. 12. Thou shalt 
not forswear thyself, but shalt perform unto the Lord thine 
oaths."— Matt. V. 33.> 

Mary returned to her parents, but it appears probable, both 
from the following circumstances and the expressed opinions of 
her father after her death, that a union with Burns was not con- 
sidered desirable for her : it was therefore deferred, and, after 
spending the summer with her faniily, Mary took another place 
(her servi.'-e to begin at Martinmas) in the family of Colonel 
M'lvor, of Glasgow. Her fnther was about to take her brother 
Robert to Greenock, to apprentice liim to a cousin, Peter Mac- 
pherson, who was a ship-carpenter in that town. Mary accom- 
panied them ostensibly on her road to her new place at Glasgow, 
secretly, it is imagined, to bid a last farewell to Burns before he 
sailed for the W est Indies. But the boj'^ Robert caught a fever, 
and Mary, who tenderly nursed him through it, drooped as he 

• This Bible has been preserved, and is placed now in Mary's rnonU' 
meat. 



iijfn 



MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. xr» 

recovered, and died in a few days. Peter Macpht^rson had bought 
a new buniiig-place just at tliat, time, and poor Highland Mary 
was the lirst iutened in it. Her death was a great uiist'ortune to 
Burns, an«l bitterly felt by him. He mourned Ids loss long after- 
wards in tlie exquisite lyric entitled " To Mary, in Heaven." 

Within a month ot Burns s arrival in Edinburgh he was in 
the midst of the tirst society both for rank and talent. Jnue, 
Duchet^s of Gordon, then the leader of fashion in the Scotch 
metropolis, appreciated his poetry, and eagerly patronized him. 
Lord Monboddo, Dr. Bobtrtson, Dr. Blair. Dr. Gregory, Dr. 
Adam Ferguson, Mackenzie, the novehst. and Mr. Fraser Tj'tler 
all extended to the ru>tic Poet the warmest and most generous 
encouragement. He was not spoiled by this universal homage. 
Nothing could be more manly and dignified than the manner in 
which he received the praises and attentions of fair ladies and 
learned divines. No tliought ot foisaking his original calling 
appears to have entered his mind. He returned gladly to the 
home and friends of his youth. He received J^500 for the 
Edinburgh edition of his poems, and was thus enabled, soon 
after, to take a farm called Ellisland, on the banks of the Nitli, 
and also to lend his brother Gilbert i;180 to enable him to support 
the family on that of M ssgiel. 

He was no sooner possessed of a house of his own than he 
made the only reparation he could to Jean Armour. He privately 
maiTied her the latter end of April, 1788, and the next month 
took her to his new dw^elling-place. But misfortune dofjged the 
Poet's steps. The farm proved a ruinous specuLition. Burns was 
finally compelled to give it up, and remove into the town of 
Dumfries, wnere he remained till his death. He supported his 
family on his income as an ex^dseman — X'50 per annum — the only 
appointment, under Government which his friends hud been a'>le 
to procure bun. Debt and difficulties gathered round his path, 
and an accidental circuiustance, which occurred in the Janu;irv 
of 179(5, brouglit physical suffering also on the sad struggling 
years of the great Scottish Poet. He had sat late one evening 
at the Globe Tavern, and on his return home, overcome by 
drowsiness, and. alas ! siiglitly intoxicated, he sank down on 
the snow, and slept, for some hours in the open air. A severe 
cold, fi-om the effects of which he never recovered, followed. 
Change of air and sea-bathing were tried for the restora- 
tion of his health in vain. On tlie 18th of July he became 
unable to stand. His luind sank into delirium, unless when 
roused by conversation ; the fever increased rapidly, ond on the 
foui'th day " the sufferings of this great but ill-fated genius 
terminated, and a life was closed in which virtue and passion 
had been at perpetual variance." — Dr. Currie's " Life of Burns." 

He WciS buried with military honours by the gentlemen volun- 
teers of Dumfries. 

Burns was nearly five feet ten inches in height ; his face waa 



xxvi MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. 

well-formed, his eyes large, dark, and full of expression. Time 
has drawn a merciful veil over the failings of the sorely tried 
man, and has crowned the Poet with a fame which will endure 
as long as Scotland exists. The details of his troubled life are 
given fully and well in the late Mr. Robert Chambers's " Life and 
Works of Burns." Only a brief space could be allowed in tliis 
volume for a biographical notice ; but the poems themselves con- 
tain the history of his mind and heart more fully than any other 
pen could ever tell it ; and to them we refer the reader for the 
true life of Burns. 




^ 



miL 



THE 

POETICAL WORKS 

or 

ROBERT BURNS. 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 

[Inscribed to R. Aiken, Esq.] 

Let not amViition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 

Nor gi.indeur hear, with a disdainful sinile, 
The short but simple annals of the poor. 

Gray. 

My loved, my Taonoured, much respected friend ! 
No mercenary bard his homage pays ; 
With honest pride I scorn each selfish end : 
My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise : 
To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays. 
The lowly train in life's sequestered scene ; 
The native feelings strong, the guileless ways ; 
What Aiken in a cottage would have leeu ; 
Ah! though his worth unknown, fai' ha2)pier there,I ween 

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh; ' 
The shoi'tening winter-day is near a close ; 
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh ; 
The blackening trains o' craws to their repose : 
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labour goes, 
This night his weekly moil is at an end. 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, 
Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend. 
And weary, o'er the moor his course does hameward bend. 

' Moan. 



1. 



THE COTTERS SATURDAY NIGHT. 

At L'no-th liis lonely cot ajapoars in view, 
Beiieatli the shelter of an aged tree ; 
The exi^ectant wee-things, todcllin, stacher ' throu^^ 
To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin noise an' g'Joe. 
His wee bit ingle,* blinking bonnily, _ 
His clean heai-thstane, bis thriftie wifie's smile, 
The lisping infant prattling on his knee, 
Does a' his weary carking cares beguile. 
An' makes him quite forget his labour an' his toil. 

Belyve'* the elder bairns come drapping in. 
At service out, amang the farmers rouu', 
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie * rin 
A cannie errand to a neebor town : 
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, 
In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e. 
Comes hame, perhaj^s, to shew a braw new go^\ n. 
Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee, 
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be 

Wi' joy unfeigned brothers and sisters meet. 
An' each for other's weelfare kindly spiers : ' 
The social hours, swift-winged, unnoticed fleet; 
Each tells the uncos ^ that he sees or hears ; 
The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years ; 
Anticipation forward points the view. 
The mother, wi' her needle an' her shears. 
Gars 7 auld claes look amaist as weel's the new ; 
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 

Their masters' an' their mistresses' command, 
The younkers a' are warned to obey ; 
An' mind their labours wi' an eydent ^ hand, 
An' ne'er, though out o' sight, to jauk or play: 
" An' ! be sure to fear the Lord alway ! 
An' mind your duty duly, morn an' night ! 
Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray. 
Implore His counsel and assisting might : 
They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright i 

But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door ; 
Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, 
Tells how a neebor lad cam' o'er the moor, 
To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 

' Stagger. ' Fire, or fireplace. * By and by, 

* Careful. * Enqiiiies. * News. 

' Makes. * r>iliac(nt. 



-Wii 



THE COTTER 8 SATURDAY NIOHT. Z 

The wily mother sees the cotiscions j3ame 
Si'iirkle in .Jenny's e'e, and Hush her cheek; 
With heavt-struclc anxious care, inquires his namo, 
Vvhile Jenny haiilins ' is afraid to speak: 
Webl pleased the mother hears it's nae wild, worthless rake 

Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings liim ben,* 
A strappan youth ; he talcs the mother's eye ; 
Blithe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en ; 
Tlie father cracks of horses, pleuj]^hs, and kye : * 
The younirster's artless heart o'erliows wi' joj. 
But blate^ and laithfu', ^ scarce can weel behave; 
The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 
What makes the youth sae bashfn' an' sae grave ; 
"Weel pleased to think her bairn's resi^ected hke the lave.* 

h:ippy love! where love like this is found ! 

heartfelt raptures ! bliss beyond compare! 

1 've paced much this weary mortal round, 
And sage experience bids me this declare — 

" If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, 
One cordial in tliis melancholy vale, 
'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, 
In other's arms breathe out the tender tale. 
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale" 

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart— 
A wretch ! a villain ! lost to love and truth ! 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art. 
Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth? 
Curse on his perjured ai-ts ! dissembling smooth ! 
Are honour, virtue, coii&oiencc, all exiled? 
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth. 
Points to the parents fondling o'er their child ? 
Then paints the ruined maid, and their disti-action wild \ 

But now the supper crowns their simple board, 
The halesome parritch,' chief o' Scotia's food : 
The soupe their only Hawkie^ does afford. 
That 'yont the hallan * snugly chows her cood : '*> 
The dame brings forth in complimental mood, 
To grace the lad, her weel-hained " kebbuck,'* fell, 
An' aft he's prest, an' aft he ca's it guid; 
The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell. 
How 'twas a towmond '^ auld, sin' lint was i' the bell.'* 

' Half. * Into the spence, or parlour. 

* Cows. ♦ Basliful. ' Sheepish. 

* llest. ' Porii.Jce. * A white- faced cow. 
" Wall. '*• Chews her cud. " Saved. 

•* iJlieese. '^ Twelvemouth. " Flax was in flowe'' 



_Jf 



THE COTTERS SATURDAY NIGHT. 

The cheerfu' siij)per done, wi' serious face, 
They round the ingle form a circle wide; 
The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace. 
The big ha' Bible, ance his father's pride: 
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, 
His lyart hafFets ' weai'ing thin an' bare ; 
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide^, 
He wales "■^ a portion with judicious care ; 
And " Let us worship God 1 " he says, with solemn air. 

They chant their artless notes in simple guise , 
They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim : 
Perhaps " Dundee's " wild warbling measures rise. 
Or plaintive " Martyrs," worthy of the name : 
Or noble " Elgin " beets the heavenward flame, 
The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : 
Compared with these, Italian trills are tame ; 
The tickled ears no heartfelt raptures raise ; 
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. 

The priest-like father reads the sacred page. 
How Abram was the friend of God on high ; 
Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage 
With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; 
Or how the royal bard did groaning lie 
Beneath the stroke of Heaven's aveuging irej 
Or, Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ; 
Or rapt Isaiah's wiUi, seraphic fire; 
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. 

Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, 
How guiltless blood for guilty man was sheil ; 
How He, who bore iu heaven the second name, 
Had not on earth whereon to lay his head : 
How his first followers and servants sped ; 
The precepts sage they wrote to many a land : 
How he, who lone in Patmos banished. 
Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand ; 
And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced "hj B-'s.ven'ii 
command. 

Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal Kmg, 
The saint, the father, and the husband prays : 
Hope " springs exulting on triumphant wing," ^ 
That thus they all shall meet in future days : 

• Grey locks. « Chooses. 

• Pope's "Windsor Forest." 



t 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIOHT. 

There ever bask in uncreated rays, 
No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, 
Together hymning their Creator's praise. 
In such societ}'^, yet still more dear ; 
While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. 

Compared with this, how poor Eeligion's pride, 
In all the pomp of method, and of art, 
When men display to congregations Nvidc, 
Devotion's every grace, excejDt the heart ! 
The Power, incensed, the pageant will desert, 
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole; 
But haply, in some cottage far apart, 
May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul; 
And in his book of life the inmates poor enrol. 

Then homeward all take off their several way ; 
The youngling cottagers retire to rest : 
The parent pair their secret homage pay, 
And proffer up to Heaven the warm request 
That He who stills the raven's clamorous nest, 
And decks the lily fair in flowery pride, 
Would, in the way his wisdom sees the best, 
For them and for their little ones provide; 
But chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside. 

Fi'om scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs. 
That makes her loved at home, revered abroad: 
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 
" An honest man's the noblest work of God : " ' 
And certes, in fair virtue's heavenly road. 
The cottage leaves the j^alace far behind ; 
What is a lordling's pomp ! a cumbrous load, 
Disguising oft the wretch of human kind. 
Studied in arts of heU, in wickedness refined ! 

Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! 
For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent I 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 
Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content 1 
And, ! may Heaven their simple lives prevent 
From Luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! 
Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 
A virtuous populace may rise the while, 
And stand a wall of fire around their much-loved Isle, 

Thou ! who poured the patriotic tide 

That streamed through Wallace's undaunted heart; 

* Pope's " Essay on Man." 



u 



THE TWA DOGS. 

Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride, 
Or nobly die, the second glorious part, 
(The patriot's God, peculiarly tliou art, 
His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward! ) 
never, never, Scotia's realm desert; 
Bnt still the patriot, and the patriot I>Tra, 
In bright succession raise, her ornameiit and guard 1 



THE TWA DOGS. 



[Of this poem Gilbert Burns says :— "The 'Tale of Twa Dogs' was 
composed after the resoliilion of publishing was nearly taken. Robert 
had a dog, which he called Luath, that was a great favourite. The dog 
had been killed by the wanton cruelty of some pers'^n the night before 
my father's death. Robert said to me that he should like to confer such 
immortality as he could bestow on his old friend Luath, and that he had 
a great mind to introduce something into the book, under the title of 
'Stanzas to the Memory of a Quadruped Friend;' but this plan was 
g^ven up tor the tale as it now stands."] 

'TwAS in that place o' Scotland'^ isle, 
That bears the name o' Auld King Coil,' 
Upon a bonnie day in June, 
When wearing through the afternoon, 
Twa dogs that were na thi-ang'* at hame, 
Forgathered ance upon a time. 

The first I'll name, they ca'd him Caesar, 

Was keepit for his Honour's pleasure : 
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs. 
Shewed he was nane o' Scotland's dogs ; 
But whalpit ^ some place far abroad, 
Where sailors gang to fish for cod.* 

His locked, lettered, braw brass collar 
Shewed him the gentleman and scholar: 
But though he was o' high degree. 
The fient a pride, nae pride had he; 
Bnt wad hae spent an hour caressin* 
Even with a tinkler-gipsy's messin.* 

' Kyle, or Coil, is the centre district of Ayi-shire ; so called from 
Coilus, King of the Piets. 

" Busy. ^ Whelj'ed. ■• Newfoundland. * Cur. 






THE rWA DOGS. 

At kirk or market, mill or s middle, 

Nae tawted ' tyke, thon^rli e'er sae duudie. 

But he wad staut as glad to sec him. 

And stroan't on stanes an' hillocks wi' him. 

The tither was a ploughman's collio,' 

A rhj^ming, ranting, raving Idllie,'' 

Wha for his friend an' comrade had hiui, 

And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him, 

After some dog in Highland sang,^ 

Was made lang syne — Lord knows how lang. 

He was a gash * an faithful tyke. 
As ever lap a sheugh ^ s-r dyke. 
His honest, sonsie, baws'nt^ face. 
Aye gat him friends in ilka place. 
His breasc was white, his towzie' back 
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black ; 
His gawcie '® tail, wi' upward curl, 
Enng o'er his hurdles ''^wi' a swirl. 

Nae doubt but they were fain o' ither. 

An' unco pack an' thick thegither; 

Wi' social nose whyles snufted and snowkit; ^ 

Whyles mice an' moudiev/orts they howkit ; i* 

WhyJes scoured awa in king excursion. 

An' worryed ither in diversion ; 

Until wi' daffin weary grown. 

Upon a knowe they sat them down. 

And there began a lang digressioa 

About the lords o' the creation. 



I 've aften wondered, honest Luath, 
What sort o' life poor dogs like you have; 
An' when the gentry's life I saw. 
What way poor bodies lived iiva.'* 

Our Laird gets in his racked rents. 
His coals, his kain, and a' his stents:* 
He rises when he likes himsel' ; 
His flunkies answer at the bell^ 



' Dng with matted hair. * Eaggec!. 

8 Country dog. * Young fellovr. 

* Cuchullin's dog in Ossian's "Fingal.^' ' Wise. 

' A. sluice. * White-striped. ® Rough. 

»« Lni-ge. " Loins. » Scented, 

» Dig-ed. " At all. '* Dues. 



THE TWA DOGS. 

He ca's his coach, he ca's his horse ; 

He draws a bonnie silken purse 

As lang's my tail, whare, through the steeta,* 

The yellow-lettered Geordie keeks."'* 

Frae morn to e'en it's nought but toihng 
At baking, roasting, frying, boiling ; _ 
An' though the gentry first are stechin,' 
Yet even the ha' folk fill their pechan ^ 
Wi' sauce, ragouts, and sic like trashlrie, 
That's little short o' downright wastrie. 
Our Whipper-in, wee blastit wonner,^ 
Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner 
Better than ony tenant man 
His honour has in a' the Ian' : 
An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch in, 
I own it's past my comprehension. 

LTJATH. 

Trowth, Caesar, whyles they 're fash't euoughi 

A cotter howkin ^ in a sheugh, 

Wi' dirty stanes biggin ^ a dyke, 

Ba,ring a qnarry, and sic like, 

Himsel', a wife, he thus sustains, 

A smytrie ^ o' wee duddie weans,' 

An' nought but his han'-darg,*® to keep 

Them right and tight in thack an' rape.** 

An' when they meet wi' sair disasters, 
Like loss o' health, or want o' masters, 
Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langor. 
An' they maun starve o' cauld and hungcr| 
But, how it conies, I never kenned it, 
They ^re maistly wonderfu' contented ; 
An buirdly '^ chiels, an' clever hizzies, 
Are bred in sic a way as this is. 



But then to see how ye're negleekit. 
How huflJ'ed, and cuffed, and disrespeckit ! 
Lord, man ! our gentry care as little 
For delvers, ditchers, an' sic cattle ; 
They gang as saucy by poor folk. 
As I v/ad by a stinking brock." 

* Stitches. * Pesps. * Crnmming. 

* Stomach. ' "Wonder. * Digginj;. 

* Building. * Number. ® Kag-ed childreili 
•* AVoili. " Necessaries. ^* Stout. 

" Badger. 



D 



THE TWA DOGS. 

I 've noticed, on our Laird's court-day. 
An' mony a time my heart's been wae. 
Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, 
How they maunt thole ' a factor's snash;' 
He '11 stamp an' threaten, curse an' swear. 
He '1! apprehend them, jx)ind "' their gear; 
V/hile they maun stan', wi' aspect humblfl^ 
An' hear it a', an' fear an' tremble ! 
I see how folk live that hae riches ; 
But surely poor folk maun be wretches 

LUATH, 

They 're nae eae wretclied 's ane wad tiling j 
Though constantly on poorlilli's* l)rink: 
They 're sae accustomed with the sight. 
The view o't gies them little fright. 

Then chance an' fortune are sae guided. 
They 're aye iu less or m.air provided ; 
An' though fatigued wi' close employment 
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment. 

The dearest comfort o' their lives. 
Their grushie* weans an' faith fu' wivesi 
The prattling things are just their pride. 
That sweetens a' their fireside. 

An' wliyles twalpennie-wortii o' nappy'* 
Can rnak' the bodies unco happ}"-; 
They lay aside their private cares. 
To mind the Kirk and State all airs: 
They '11 talk o' patronage and priesta, 
Wi' kindling fury in their breasts, 
Or tell what nev^ taxation's coniin*. 
An' ferlie '' at the folk iu Lon'on. 

As bleak-faced Hallo wm ass* returns. 
They get the jovial, ranting kirns,® 
When rural life, o' every station, 
Unite in common recreution; 
Love blinks. Wit slaps, an' social Mirth 
Forgets there's Care ujx)' the eartL 

' Bear. * Abuse. '■ Seize tiieir g(Mda. 

• Poverty, * Tiuiring. « Ale. 

' Wonder contemptuoualy. 8 jQ^txiber 3L 

• Harvest-boraes, 



ifJl 



10 THE T]YA DOG'S. 

That merry day tlie year begins, 
They bar the door on frosty winds; 
The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream,* 
An' sheds a heart-inspiring steam ; 
The luntiii* pij^e, an' snceshin mill,' 
Ayq handed round wi' right guid will; 
The cantie"* anld folks crackin cronse,* 
The young anes rantin' through the houae^- 
My heart has been sae fain to see them. 
That I fox joy hae barkit wi' them. 

Still it's owre true that ye hae said. 
Sic game is now owi-e aften played. 
There's monie a creditable stock 
0' decent, honest, fawsont*^ fo'k. 
Are riven out baith i-oot and branch. 
Some rascal's pridefu' greed to qnenchs> 
Wha' thinks to knit himsel' the faster 
In favour wi' some gentle master, 
Wha, aiblins,^ thrang a-parliaraentin'. 
For Britain's guid his saul indeutin'. 



Haiih, lad, ye little ken about it: 

For Britain's guid! — guid faith, I doubt it I 

Say rather, gann, as Premiers lead him. 

An' saying aye or no 's they bid him : 

At operas an' plays parading. 

Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading 5 

Or maybe, in a frolic daft, 

To Hague or Calais takes a waft, 

To make a tour, and tak' a whii'l, ', 

To learn hon ton an' see the worl'. 

There, at Vienna or Yereailles, 

He rives his fathei-'s auld entails ! 

Or by Madrid he takes the ront, 

To thrum guitars, and fecht wi' uowt ; 

Or down Italian vista startles, 

Wh-re-hunting amang groves o' myrtles* 

Then bouses drumly^ German water. 

To mak' himsel' look fair and fatter. 

An' clear the consequential sorrows. 

Love-gifts of Carnival signoras. 

For Britain's guid 1 — for her destructicoil 

Wi' dissipation, feud, an' faction. 

■» Froth. 2 Smoking. ' gmiff-bo^ 

• Cheerful. * Gossip merrily. ^ Seemly. 

' Perhaps. ' Muddy. 



THE l^YA DOGS. 



11 



LIJATII. 

Hech, man ! dear sirs ! is that the gattf 
They waste sae mony a braw estate? 
Are we sae foughten an' harassed 
For gear to gang that gate at last ? 

would they stay aback frae courts, 
An' please themselves wi' country sports^ 
It wad for every ane be better, 
The Laird, the Tenant, an' the Cotter ! 
For thae frank, rantin' ramblin' billies, 
Fient haet o' them's ill-hearted fellows ; 
Except for breaking o'er their timmer,* 
Or speaking lightly o' their limmer,* 
Or shootin' o' a hare or moor-cock, 
The ne'er a bit the}"^ 're ill to poor folk. 

But will ye tell me, Master Caesar, 
Sure great folk's life 's a life o' pleasure ! 
Nae cauld or hunger e'er can steer ' them. 
The vera thought o't needna fear them. 

Lord, man, were ye but whyles whare I am. 
The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em. 

It's true, they need na starve or sweat, 
Through winter's cauld, or simmer's heat ; 
They 've nae sair wark to craze their baurs, 
An' fill auld age with grips an' granes ; 
But human bodies are sic fools. 
For a' their colleges and schools, 
That when nae real ills jierplex them, 
They mak' enow themsels to vex them ; 
An' aye the less they hae to sturf then:. 
In like proportion less vv'ill hurt them ; 
A. country fellow at the pleugh. 
His acres tilled, he's right eneugh; 
A country girl at her wheel, 
Her dizzens * done, she's unco weel : 
But Gentlemen, an' Ladies warst, 
Wi' ev'ndown want o' wark are curst. 
They loiter, lounging, lank, an' lazy ; 
Though deil haet hails them, yet uneasy j 
Their days insipid, dull an' tasteless : 
Their nights unquiet, lang an' restless ; 



Timber. 
Vex. 



' Light of love. 
* Doaens, i.e., task. 



Molest, harm. 



r 



IS SCOTCH J) RINK. 



An' e'en their sports, their balls, an' rac^ 

Their galloping through public places. 

There's sic parade, sic pomp, an' art, 

The joy can scarcely reach the heart. 

The men cast out in party matches, 

Then sowther * a' in deep debauches : 

Ae night they 're mad wi' drink an' wh-ring, , 

Niest day their life is past enduring 

The ladies arm-in-arm in clusters, | 

As great and gracious a' as sisters ; 

But hear their absent thoughts o' ither. 

They 're a' run deils an' jads thegithcr. 

"Whyles o'er the wee bit cup an' platie, 

They sip the scandal potion pretty ; 

Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks 

Pore owre the devil's pictured beuhs ; * 

Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyarJ, 

An' cheat Hke onie unhanged blackguard. 

There's some exception, man an' woman; 
But this is Gentry's life in common. 

By this, the sun was out o' sight. 
An' darker gloaming brought the nightt 
The bum-clock^ hummed wi' lazy drone; 
The kye stood rowtin * i' the loan ; * 
When up they gat, and shook their lug% 
Eejoiced they were na men but dogs ; 
An' each took aft" his several way, 
Besolved to meet some ither day. 



SCOTCH DRINK. 

Gie him strong drink, until he wink, 

That's sinking in despair ; 
An' liquor guid to fire bis bluid, 

That 's prest wi' grief an' cai'e ; 
There let him bouse, an' deep carouse, 

Wi' bumpers flowing o'er. 
Till he forgets his loves or debts, 

An' minds his griefs no more. 

Solomon's Proverbs, xxxi. 6, 7. 

Let other Poets raise a fi-acas 

'Bout vines, an' wines, an' drunken Bacchus, 

' Solder. "" Cards. 

' The humming-beetle that flies about in the summer twilight. 

* Lowing. * Milking-place. 



n 



SCOTCH DRINK. 13 

An' crabbit names an' stories wrack ' ua, 

An' grate our lug, 
I sing the juice Scots bear can mak' us, 

In glass or jug. 

O thou, my Muse ! guid auld Scotch Drink ; 
Whether through wimpling worms thou jink,'' 
Or, richly brown, ream ^ o'er the brink, 

In glorious faem. 
Inspire me, till I lisp and wink, 

To sing thy name 1 

Let husky Wheat the haughs* adorn. 
An' Aits^ set up their awnie ^ horn. 
An' Pease and Beans at e'en or morn. 

Perfume the plain, 
Leeze me ' on thee, John Barlej'corn, 

Thou king o' grain 1 

On thee aft Scotland chows her cood. 
In souple scones, the wale * o' food ; 
Or tumblin' in the boiling flood 

Wi' kail an' beef ; 
But when thou pours thy strong heart's blood* 

There thou shines chief. 

Food fills the wame,' an' keeps us livin'; 
Tii jDgh life's a gift no worth receivin', 
When heavy dragged wi' pine an' grievin' ; 

But oiled by thee, 
The wheels o' life gae down -hill, scrievin', ^ 

Wi' rattlin' glee. 

Thoy clears the head o' doited " Lear; 
Thou cheers the heai-t o' drooping Care; 
Thou strings the nerves o' Labour sair, 

At's weary toil ; 
Thou even brightens dark Despair 

Wi' gloomy smilot 

Aft, clad in massy silver weed,'^ 
Wi' Crentles thou erects thy head; 
Yet humbly kind in time o' need, 

The poor man's wine> 
His wee drap parritch, or his bread, 

Thou kitchens fine. 

* Bother. ' Turn, or wind ^ Froth. 

* Valleys. * Oats. * liearded. 
' I am proud of thee. " Kest. • Stomach. 

» Swiftly, " Be'vildered. " Tunkard. 



4n 



14 SCOTCH DRINK. 

Thou art tlie life o' public haunts ; 

But thee, what were our fairs and rants? 

Even godly mcetino-s o' the saunts,' 

By thee inspired, 
When gaping they besiege the tents, 

Are doubly fired. 

That merry night we get the corn in, 
sweetly then thou reams the horn iu ! 
Or reeking on a New-year mornin' 

In cog "^ or bicker, 
An' just a wee drap sp' ritual burn in, 

An' gusty sucker !^ 

When Vulcan gies his bellows breath. 
An' ploughman gather wi' their graith,* 
O rare ! to see thee fizz an' freath 

I' th' lugget caup !* 
Then Burnewin * comes on like death 

At every chaup. 

Nae mercy, then, for aim or steel ; 
The bi-awnie, bainie, 2)loughman chiel, 
Brings hard owrehip, wi' sturdy wheel, 

The strong forehammar. 
Till block an' studdie ring and reel 

Wi' dinsome clamour. 

When skirlin' weanies ^ see the light, 
Thou male's the gossips clatter bright, 
How fumblin' cuifs* their dearies slight; 

Wae worth the name ! 
Nae howdie' gets a social night, 

Or plack ■° frae them. 

When neebors anger at a plea, 
An' just as wud ^' as wud can be. 
How easy can the bai-ley-bree 

Cement the quarrel! 
It's aye the cheapest lawyei-'s fee, 

To taste the barrel. 

• Out-door communions. See " Holy Fair," * A wooden disb. 

• A taste of sugar. * Tools. 

* Wooden cup with handles. 

* Burnewin — burn-the-wind — the blacksmith — an appropriate title. 
' Screaming weanies. ** Awkward fools. " Midwife. 

'" An old Scotch coin, the third part of a Scotch penny, twelve of 
which made an English penny. " Mad. 



D 






SCOTCH DiilXK. W 

Alake ! tliat e^er my Muse has reason 
To wyte' her conntrjanen \vi' treason I 
But monie daily weet their weason'' 

Wi' liquors nice, 
An' hardly, in a winter's season, 

E'er spier ^ her price. 

Wae worth that brandy, burning trash ! 
Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash ! ■* 
Twins" monie a poor, doylt, dninkeii hash,* 

0' half his days ; 
An' sends, beside, anld Scotland's cash. 

To her warst faes. 

Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well I 
Ye chief, to you my talc I tell. 
Poor plackless' devils like mysel' ! 

It sets you ill, 
Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell,* 

Or foreign gill. 

May gravels round his blather wrench. 
An' gouts torment him inch by incii, 
Wha twists his gruntle ^ wi' a glunch'* 

0' sour disdain. 

Out owre a glass of whisky punch 

Wi' honest men. 

O Whisky ! soul o' plays an' pranks ! 
Accept a Bardie's humble thanks ! 
When wanting thee, what tuneless critrikfi 

Are my poor verses 1 
Thou comes they rattle i' their ranks 

At ither's a s ! 

Thee, Ferintosh !»' sadly lost! 
Scotland, lament frae coast to coast I 
Now colic grips, an' barkin hoast, 

May kill us a' ; 
For loyal Forbes' chartered boast 

Is ta'en awa' ! 

• Accuse, or blame. * Weasand. ' Ask, enqaire. 

* Illness. * Deprives. * OLnvn. 
' Penniless. * Meddle. ' Phiz. 

'» Grin. 

" A cant term for whisky distilled at Mr. Forbes's barony of tliat 
name. Duncan Forbes, of Culloden, was permitted by tlie Government to 
distil whisky free of expense ; this permission liad been revoked at the 
period of P)Uins writing this poem. 



3 



a 



16 THE AUTHORS EARNEST' 

Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise, 
Wha mak' the Whisky Stells their prize! 
Haud up thy han', Deil! ance, twice, thrice i 

There, seize the bhukers ! 
An' bake them up in brunstane pies. 

For i^oor d— ned drinkers. 

Fortune ! if tliou '11 but gie me still 
Hale breeks,^ a scone, an' Whisky gill, 
An' rowth^ o' rhyme to rave at will, 

Tak' a' the rest, * 
An' deal't about as thy blind skill 

Directs thee best. 



THE AUTHOE'S EARNEST ORY AND PRAYER TO 
THE SCOTCH REPRESENTATIVES IN 'J HE 
HOUSE OP COMMONS.^* 

Dearest of distillaiion ! last and best ! 

How art thou lost ! 

Pakody on MiLTOfc 

Ye Irish Lords, ye Knights an' Squires. 
Wha represent our brughs an' shires, 
An' doucely manage our affairs 

In parliament. 
To you a simple Poet's prayers 

Are humbly Sf nt. 

Alas ! my roupet Muse is hearse ! * 

Your Honour's heart wi' grief 'twad piercOf 

To see her sittin' on her a — 

Low i' the dust, 
An' scriechin' out prosaic verse. 

An' like to brust I 

Tell them wha hae the chief direction, 
Scotland au' rme's in great affliction. 
E'er sin' they laid that curst restrict 'oi\ 

On aquavitffi; 
An' rouse them up to strong conviction, 

An' move their pity. 

* Breeches, - Plenty. 

^ This was written before the Act anent the Scotch Distilleries, of 
session 178(3, for which Scotland and the Author return their most 
grateful thanks. 

* Aly muse is hoarse with cold in the throat. 



ni[ 



__Jr 



CRY AND P BAYER. 17 

Stand forth, an' tell yon Premier Youth,' 

Tlie honest, open, naked truth : 

Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth,* 

His servants humble : 
The muckle devil blaw ye south, 

If ye dissemble ! 

Does ony great man glunch* an' gloom P 
Speak out, an' never fash your thumb ! 
Let posts an' pensions sink or s om ■• 

Wi' them wha grant 'em: 
If honestly they canna come, 

Far better want 'em. 

In gathering votes you were na slack; 
Now stand as tightly by your tack; 
Ne'er claw your lug,^ an' fidgc ® your back, 

An' hum an' haw ; 
But raise your arm, an' tell your crack ' 

Before them a'. 

Paint Scotland greeting' owre her thrissle; ^ 
Her mutchkin-stonp as toom's a whisslej '*' 
An' d — mned Excisemen in a bussle. 

Seizin' a stell," 
Triumphant crushin't like a mussel 

Or lampit shell. 

Then on the tither hand present her, 

A blackguard Siuugaler right behint her. 

An' cheek-for-chow,'^ a chuffie '^ Vintner, 

Collcaguing join, 
Picking her pouch as bare as winter 

Of a' kind coin. 

Is there, that bears the name o' Scot, 
But feels his heart's bluid rising hoi, 
To see his jDoor auld Mither's pot 

Thus dung in staves, 
An' plundered o' her hindmost groat 

By gallows knaves P 

Alas ! I 'm but a nameless wight, 
Trode i' the mire clean out o' sight ! 

« William Pitt. ' Tliirst. » Frown. 

* Swim. 5 E;ir. « Slirug. 

' Btory. * Mourning. * Thistle, 

'" Her pint mug as empty as a wliistle. " StilL 
'■■* Ciicek-by-jowl '* Fat-faced. 



1 



r 



m TUE AUTHOlVki EARNEST 

But could I like Moutgom'ries tight, 

Or gab like Boswellj 

There's some sai'k-necks I wad draw tight, 

An' tie some hose weUL 

God bless your Honours ! can ye see't 
The kind, auld, cautie Carlin ' greet, 
An' no get warmly to your feet. 

An' gar them hear it> 
An' tell them wi' a patriot heat, 

Ye winna bear it ! 

Some o' you nicely ken the laws, 
To round the period an' pause, 
An' wi' rhetoric clause on clause 

To mak' harangues ; 
Then echo through Saint Stephen's wa's 

Auld Scotland's wrangs, 

Dempster,'* a true-blue Scot, I'se warran' ; 
Thee, aith^-dctesting, chaste Kilkerran, 
An' that glib-gabbet * Highland Baron, 

The Laird o' Graham ; * 
An' ane, a chaj) that's damned auldfarran,® 

Dundas his name. 

Erskine, a spunkie' Norland billle; 
True Campbells, Frederick an' Hay; 
An' Livingstone, the bauld Sir Willie ! 

An' monie ithers, 
"Whom auld Demosthenes or Tully 

Might own for brithcra. 

Thee, Sodger Hugh, my watchman stented," 

If bardies e'er are represented ; 

I ken if that your sword were wanted, 

Ye 'd lend your hand : 
But when there's ought to say anent it. 

Ye 're at a stand.' 

' Cantie Carlin greet — the clieerful old dame {i.e., Scotland) grieve. 

• George Dempster, Esq., of Dunnichen, Forfarshire. 

• Oath. •• Ready-tongued. 
' Sir Adam Ferguison, afterwards Duke of Montrose. 

• Sagacious. ' Spirited. 

' Vanguard Hugh .Montgomery, Esq. , was member for the Poet's county, 
Ayrsliiie. 

" Mr. Montgo»Qery was a bad speaker. 



rni 



CRY AND PRAYER. 19 

Arouse, m}"^ bo3^s ! exert your mettle. 

To get aiild Scotland back her kettle ; 

Or faith ! I '11 wad ' my new plengh-i^ettle,* 

Ye '11 see 't, or lang. 
She '11 teach you, wi' a reelcin' whittle,^ 

Anither sang. 

This while she's been in crankous * mood, 
Her lost Militia fired her blr.id ; 
(Deil na they never niair do guid, 

Played her that pliskie!") 
An' now she 's like to rin red-wad'' 

About her whisky. 

An' Lord, if ance they pit her till't. 
Her tartan petticoat she "11 kilt. 
An' dark an' pistol at her belt, 

S!ie '11 tak' the streets, 
An' rin. her whittle to the hilt 

I' th' first she meets 1 

For God sake, sirs ! then speak her fair. 
An' straik ' her cannie wi' the hair. 
An' to the muckle House i-epair 

Wi' instant speed* 
An' strive, wi' a' your wit and Icar ^ 

To get remead. 

Yon ill-tongued tinkler, Charlie Fox, 
May taunt you v/i' his jeers an' mocks ; 
But gie him't het, my hearty cocks ! 

E"en CO we the caddie ! ' 
And send him to his dicing-box 

An' sportin' lady. 

Tell yon guid bluid o' auld Boconnock's '" 
I'll be his debt twa mashlum bonnocks,^' 
An' drink his health in auld Nanse Tinnock's,'* 

Nine times a week, 
If he some scheme, like tea an' winnocks,'^ 

Wad kindly seek. 

» Bet. ' Plough-staff. » Knife. 

* Ill-tempered. * Trick. « Mad. 

' Stroke. ^ Learning. * Young cad. 

'" Pitt, grand.?on of Robert Pitt, of Boconnock, in Cornwall. 
" Scotcli cakes nf varions grain. 

'* A worthy old hostess of the Author's in Mancliline, where he Bomsr 
times studied politics over a glass of guid auld Scotch drink. — liviiMB. 
" Wind 



.Jr 



THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY AND FRAYEEL 

Could lie some commutation broach, 
I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, 
He need iia fear their foul reproach, 

Nor erudition. 
Yon mixtie-mastie ' queer hotch-jDotch, 

The Coahtion. 

Auld Scotland has a raucle ^ tongue 
She's just a devil wi' a rung ; ^ 
An' if she promise auld or young 

To talc' their part. 
Though by the neck she should be strung. 

She'll no desert. 

An' now, ye chosen Pive-and-Forty,'* 
May still your Mither's heart support ye; 
Then, though a Minister grow dorty,* 

An' kick your place. 
Ye '11 snap your fingers, ])oor an' hearty. 

Before his face. 

' God bless your Honours a' 3'our days, 
Wi' sowps o' kail* and l^ats o' claise,' 
In spite o' a' the thievisli kaes^ 

That haunt St. Jamie's! 
Your humble Poet sings an' prays 

While K.ab his name Ls. 



Postscript. 

liET half-starved slaves in warmer skies. 
See future wines rich clust'ring rise; 
Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies, 

But blithe and frisky, 
She eyes her freeborn, martial boys 

Tak' afF their whisky. 

What though their Phoebus kinder warms, 
While fragrance blooms and beauty charms I 
When wretches range, in famislucl swarms, 

The scented groves. 
Or hounded forth, dishonour arms 

In hungry droves. 

' Confusedly mixed. * Fearless, ^ Cmlgel. 

* Tlic Scotch M.P.'s. * Sulky. ^ Spooufuls of mutton broUi. 

' Rags of clothes. * Jackdaws. 



3 



DYING WORDS OF POOR MAILIE. 21 

Their gun's a burden on their shouther ; 
They downa bide the stink o' powther ; 
Their bauldest thought's a hank'ring swither ' 

To stan' or rin, 
Till skelp — a shot — they're aff, a' trowther * 

To save their skin. 

But bring a Scotsman frae his hill, 
Clap in his cheek a Highland gUl, 
Say, Such is royal George's will. 

An' there's the foe, 
He has nae thought but how to kill 

Twa at a blow. 

l^ae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him ; 
Death comes, wi' fearless eye he sees him ; 
Wi' bluidy hand a welcome gies him ; 

An' when he fa's. 
His latest draught o' bi-eathin' lea'es him 

In faint huzzas. 

Sages their solemn een may steek,* 
An' raise a philosophic reek,* 
An' physically causes seek, 

In clime and season ; 
But tell me Whisky's name in Greek, 

I'll tell the reason. 

Scotland, my auld, respected Mither! 
Though whHes ye moistify your lether, 
Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather. 

Ye tine * your dam ; 
(Freedom and Whisky gang thegither !) 

Tak' aff your dram ! 



THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR 
MAILIE, 

THE author's only PET YOWE.' 

An unco moumfu' Tale. 

As Mailie an' her lambs thegither. 
Were ae day nibbling on the tether, 
Upon her cloot '' she coost ^ a hitch," 
An' owre she warsled " in the ditch : 

* Uncertainty. ^ Pell-mell. ^ Eyes may shnfc 

■• Smoke. • Lose. ® Ewe. 

'' Hoof. e Ca-st. » Ijoop. 
* Wrestled. 



o 




22 DYJNG WORD.S OF I'UOR MAILIE, 



There, groaning, dying, slie did lie, 
When Hughoc ' he cam' doytin * by. 

Wi' glowrin een, an' lifted han's, 

Poor Hughoc like a statne stan's ; 

He saw her days were near-hand ended, 

But, waes my heart ! he conld na mend it ! 

He gaped wide, but naething spak ! 

At length poor Maihe silence brak. 

•' thou, whase lamentable face 
Appears to mourn ray woefn' case I 
My dying words attentive hear. 
An' bear them to my Master dear. 

*• Tell him, if e'er again he keep 
As muckle gear as buy a sheep. 
Oh, bid him never tie them mair 
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair ! 
But ca' them out to park or hill, 
An' let them wander at their will ; 
So may his flock increase, an' grow 
To scores o' iambs an' packs o' woo' I 

•* Tell him, he was a master kin', 
An' &ye was guid to me and mine ; 
An' now my dying charge I gi'e him. 
My helpless lambs I trust them Avi' him» 

** Oh, bid him save their harmless lives 
Frae dogs, an' tods,^ an' butchers' knives! 
But gi'e them guid cow-milk their fill, 
Till they be fit to fend themsel' ; 
An' tent* them duly e'en an' morn, 
Wi' teats * o' hay, an' rips ^ o' corn. 

" An' may they never learn the gaets' 
Of ither vile, wanrestf u' ^ pets ! 
To slink through slaps,^ an' reave, ** an' steal 
At stacks o' pease, or stocks o' kail. 
So may they, like their great forbears, . 
For monie a year come tln-ough the sheers: 
So wives will gi'e them bits o' bread, 
An' bairns greet for them when they're dead. 

' A neighbour heid callan. — Burns. ' Walkinj^ jstnpirilj 

' Foxes. ■• Take care. * Small (juantitiear 

Ilaiidfuls. ^ Habits. « Hestless. 

' A hole in a hedge. '" Hove. 



FOOn Jl A /LIE'S ELF.QY. 

* My poor toop-lamb, my son an" heir, 
Oh, bid him breed him up m' care! 
An' if he live to be a beast, 
To pit some havins ' in his breast ! 
An' warn him, what I winna name, 
To stay content wi' yowes at hame ; 
An' no to rin an' wear his cloots, 
Like ither menseless,^ graceless brutea. 

" An' neist, my yowie, silly thing, 
Gude keep thee frae a tether string ! 
Oh, may thou ne'er forgather up 
Wi' ony blastit, moorland tooji; 
But aye keep mind to moop '^ an' mell 
Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel' ! 

" And now, my bairns, wi' my last breatls# 
I lea'e my blessin' wi' you baith : 
An' when yon think iipo' your mither. 
Mind to be kin' to ane anither. 

"Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fall 
To tell my master a' my tale; 
An' bid him burn this cursed tether, 
An', for thy pains, thou'se get my blether.^ 

This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head, 
And closed her een aman.^- the dead. 



POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. 

Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, 

Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose ; 

Our bardie's fate is at a close. 

Past a' remead ; 
The last sad cape-stane of his woes : 

Poor Mailie's dead I 

It's no the loss o' warl's gear. 
That could sae bitter draw the tear, 
Or mak' om* bardie, dowie,^ wear 

The mourning weeds 
He's lost a friend and neebor dear 

In Mailie dead. 

Through a' the toun ^ she trotted by him ; 
A lang half-mile she could descry him ; 

* Good sense. ^ Senseless. '•' Nibble. 

* Bladder. * Worn with grief. ^ Tlie farm. 



d 



£4 PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. , 

f 
Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him, 

She ran wi' speed ; 
A friend mair faithfu' ne'er came nigh him 

Than MaiUe dead. 

I wat she was a sheep o' sense, 
An' could behave hersel' wi' mense ; ' 
I'll uay't, she never brak a fence 

Through thievish greed. 
Our bardie, lanely, keeps the spence"'' 

Sin' Mailie's dead. 

Or, if he wanders up the howe,^ 

Eer living image, in her yowe, 

Comes bleating to him, owre the knowe,* 

For bits o' bread ; 
An' down the briny pearls rowe 

For Mailie dead. 

She was nae get o' moorland tips,' 

Wi' tawted ket," an' hairy hips : 

For her forbears were brought in ships 

Frae yont the Tweed; 
A bonnier fleesh ne'er crossed the clips 

Than Mailie dead. 

Wae worth the man wha first did shape 
That vile wanchancie^ thing — a rape ! 
It mak's guid fellows grin an' gape,® 

Wi' chokin' dread j 
An' Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape 

For Mailie dead. 

Oh, a' ye bards on bonnie Doon ! 
An' wha on Ayr your chanters tune i 
Come, join the nielancholious croon 

O' Robin's reed I 
His heart will never get aboon 

His Mailie dead. 



A PRAYER m THE PROSPECT OF DEATH- 

Tirou unknown. Almighty Cause 
Of all my hope and fear ! 
In whose dread presence, ere an hour, 
Perhaps I must appear ! 

Good manners. ° Shuts himself up in the parlour. 

Deli. * Knoll. * Kams. 

Matted fleece. ' Unlucky. ^ q.^^ ^.^^ 



It 



STAl\ZAS ON TUB SAME OCVASlOiW 2i 

If I have wandered in those paths 

Of life I ought to shun; 
As something loudly in mj breast 

Eemonstrates I have done ; 

Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me 

V/ith passions wild and strong ;_ 
And hst'ning to their witching voice 

Has often led me v/rong. 

"Where human weakness has come short. 

Or frailty stept aside, 
Do thou, All Good ! for such Thou art, 

In shades of darkness hide. 

Where with intention I have erred, 

No other plea I have, 
But, Tliou art good ; and Goodness still 

Delighteth to forgive. 

STANZAS ON THE SAME OCCASION. 

Why am I loth to leave this earthly scene? 
Have I so found it full of pleasing charms.^ 
Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between : 
Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing storms/ 
Is it departing pangs my soul alarms? 
Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode? 
For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in arms; 
I tremble to approach an aiigry God, 
And justly smart beneath liis sin-avenging rod. 

Fain would I say, " Forgive my foul otlencel" 
Fain promise never more to disobey; 
But, should my Author health again disisens^ 
Again I might desert fair Virtue's way; 
Again in folly's path might go astray; ' 
Again exalt the brute and sink the man; 
Then how should I for heavenly mercy pray, 
Who act so counter heavenly Mercy's plan? 
Who sin so oft have mourned, yet to temptation ran r 

O Thou, great Governor of all below 1 
If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee, 
Thy nod can make the tempest ceaae to blow, 
Or still the tumult of the raging sea; 
With that controlling power assist e'en me. 
Those headlong furious passions to confine; 
For all unfit I feel my powers to be, 
To rule their torrent in th' alli)wed line; 
Oh, aid me with thy help, OmniDotence Divine! 



r^ g 



e 

• 26 
Lying at a Reverend Friend's Louse one night, the Author left the foUowing 

VERSES 
in the room where he slept. 

TnoTJ dread Power, who reign' st above ! 

I know Thou wilt me hear ; 
"When for this scene of peace and love 

I make my prayer sincere. 

The hoary sire — the mortal stroke, 
Long, long, be pleased to spare 1 

To bless his little filial flock, 
And show what good men are. 

She, who her lovely offspriiig eyes 

Vv^ith tender hopes and fears, 
Oh, bless her with a mother's joys, 

But spare a mother's tears ! 

Their hope, their stay, their darling youth. 

In manhood's dawning blush ; 
Bless him, Thou God of love and truth, 

U]3 to a parent's v/ish ! 

The beauteous, seraph sister-band. 

With earnest tears I pray, 
Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry hand — 

Guide thou their steps alway ! 

When, soon or late, they reach that coast, 

O'er life's rough ocean driven, 
May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost, 

A family in heaven ! 

. ^ THE FIRST PSALM. 

The man, in life wherever placed, 

Hath happiness in store. 
Who walks not in the wicked's way, 

Nor learns their guilty lore ! 

Nor from the seat of scornfal pride 

Casts forth his eyes abroad. 
But with humility and awe 

Still walks before his God. 

That man shall flourish like the trees 

Which by the streamlets grow ; 
The fruitful top is spread on high. 
And firm the root below. 



FIRST 81 X VERSES OF NINETIETH PSALM. 27 

But lie whose blossom buds in guilt 

Shall to the ground be cast, 
And, hke the rootless stubble, tossed 

Before the sweeping blast 

For why? that God the good adore 

Hath given them peace and rest, 
But hath decreed that wicked men 

Shall ne'er be truly blest. 



THE FIEST SIX VEESES OF THE NINETIETH 

PSALM. 

Thou, the first, the greatest Friend 

Of all the human race ! 
Whosf! strong right hand has ever been 

Their stay and dwelling-place ! 

Before the mountains heaved theii* heads 

Beneath Thy Ibrming hand, 
Before this ponderous globe itself 

Ai'ose at Thy command ; 

That Power which raised and still upholds 

This universal frame. 
From countless, unbeginning time 

Was ever still the same. 

Tliose mighty periods of years 

Which seem to us so vast. 
Appear no more before Thy sight 

Than yestei'day that's past. 

Thou giv'st the word : Thy creature, man. 

Is to existence brought : 
Again Thou say'st, " Ye sons of men. 

Return ye into nought ! " 

Thou layest them, with all their cares, 

In everlasting sleep ; 
As with a flood Thou tak'st them off 

With overwhelming sweep. 

They flourish like the morning flower, 

In beaut3'-'s pride arrayed ; 
But long ere night, cut down it lies. 

All withered and decayed. 



28 



TO A MOUSE.' 

Wre, sleekit, cowi-in', tim'rous beasti^ 
Ob, what a panic's in tby breastie ! 
Tliou needna start awa' sae hasty, 

Wi' bick'ring brattle ! * 
I wad be laith to rin and chase thee, 

Wi' murd'riug pattle ! ' 

I 'm tnily sorry man's dominion 
Has bi'oken nature's social union, 
And justifies that ill OToinion 

Which mak's thee startle 
At me, thy poor earth-born companion, 

And fellow-mortal ! 

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve ; 
What then ? poor beastie, thou maun live! 
A daimen icker in a thrave * 

'S a sma' request: 
I'll get a blessin' wi" the lave. 

And never miss 't I 

Thv wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! 
J silly wa's the win's ai-e stremn'I 
And naething now to big * a new ane 

0' foggage green ! 
And bleak December's winds ensuin*, 

Baith suell ® and keen! 

Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste, 
And weary winter coniin' fast, 
And cozie here, beneath the blast 

Thou thought to dwell. 
Till, crash ! the cruel coulter past 

Out through thy cell. 

That wee bit heap o' leaves and stibble 
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! 

• A farm servant was driving the plough which Burns held, when a 
mouse ran liefore them. The man would have killed it, but was restrained 
by his master. The circumstance originated this poem. 

^ Hurrying run. ^ The plough-spade. 

• Au ear of corn in twenty-four sheaves — that is in a thrave- 

• Build. 8 Bitter. 



IE 



HALLOWEEN. 29 

Now thou's turned out for a' thy trouble. 

But house or hauld,' 
To thole " the winter's sleety dribble, 

And cranreuch •'' cauld ! 

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane * 
In proving foresight may be vain ! 
The best-laid schemes o' mice and men. 

Gang aft a-glej'," 
And lea'e us nought but grief and pain 

For jjromised joy. 

Still thou art blest, comjDared wi' me I 
The pi'esent only toucheth thee : 
But, och ! I backward cast my e'e 

On prospects drear I 
And forward, though I canna see, 

I guess and fear. 



HALLOWEEN." 

The following poem will, by many readers, be well enough understood ; 
but lor the sake of those who are unacquainted with the manners and 
traditions of the country where the scene is cast, notes ate added, to give 
some account of the principal cliarms and spells of that night, so big 
with prophecy to the peasantry in the west of Scotland. The passion of 
prying into futurity makes a striking part of the history of Jiuman nature 
in its rude state, in all ages and nations ; and it may be some entertain- 
ment to a philosophic mind, if any such should honour the Author with 
the perusal, to see the remains of it among the more unenlightened in 
our own. — Burks. 

Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, 

The simple pleasures of the lowly train ; 

To me more dear, congenial to my heart, 

One native charm, than all the gloss of art. 

Goldsmith. 

Upon that night, when fairies light, 

On Cassilis Downans' dance. 
Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, 

On sprightly coursers prance ; 

' Without house or home. ^ Bear. ^ Hoar-frost. 

* Not alone. * Wrong. 

• Halloween is thought to be a uight when witches, devils, and other 
mischief-making beings are all abroad on their baneful midnight errands; 
particularly those aerial people, the Fairits, are said on that night to 
hold a grand anniversary. — Burks. 

^ Certain little romantic, rocky, green hills, in the neighbourhood ol 
the ancient seat of the Earls of Cassilir.^ — Burns. 



30 HALLOWEEN. 

Or for Colean tlio route is ta'en, 

Beneath the moon's pale benmg; 
There up the cove' to stray ami rove 

Ainaug the rocks and streams 

To sport that night, 

Araang the bonnie winding banlcs 

Where Doon rins, wimplin'^ clear, 
"Where Bruce ■'' ance ruled the martial ranksj, 

An' shook the Carrick spear, 
Some merry, friendly, countra folks 

Together did convene, 
To burn their nits,* an' pou their stocks,^ 

An' hand their Halloween 

Fu' blithe that night. 

The lasses feat," an' cleanly neat. 

Mair braw than when they're tine; 
Their faces blithe, fu' sweetly kythe/ 

Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kiu' : 
The lads sae trig, wi' wooer babs," 

Weel knotted on their garten. 
Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs, 

Gar lasses' hearts gang startin' 

Whiles fast at night. 

Then, first and foremost, throngh the kail. 
Their stocks ® mann a' be sought ance ; 

They steek their een, and graip '" an' wale," 
For muckle anes and stranght anes. 

' A noted cavern near Colean House, called "The Cove of Colean ;" 
which, as Cassilis Do\vnans, is famed in country story for being a favourite 
haunt of faiiies. — Bl'KNS. 

'■^ Meanilerinn;. 

^ The famous family of that name, the ancestors of Robert, the great 
deliverer of his country, were Earls of Canick. — Burns. 

■• Nuts. 5 riants of kail. * Spruce. 

' Shown. * (jarters knotted with loops. 

' The first ceremony of Halloween is pulling each a stock, or plant of 
kail. They must go out, hand in hand, with eyes shut, and pull the first 
they meet with. Its being big or little, straight or crooked, is prophetic 
of the size and shape of the grand object of nil their spells — the husband 
or wife. If any yird, or earth, stick to the root, that is toclier, or 
fortune; and the state of the custoc, that is, the heart of the stem, is 
indicative of the natural temper and disposition. Lastly, the stems, or, 
to give them their ordinary appellation, the runts, are placed somewiiere 
above the head of the door; and the Christian names of the people whom 
chance brings into the house are, according to the priority of placing the 
runts, the names in question. — Burns. 

'" Grope. " Choose. 



^ ■ I 



HALLOWEEN. 81 

Poor hav'rel ^ Will fell aff tlie drift, _ 

An' waiidrred tlu-ough the bow-kail,* 
An' pow't,^ for want o' better shift, 

A runt^ was like a sow-tail, 

Sae bow't ° that night. 
Then, straight or crooked, yird ^ or nane, 

They roar an' cry a' tliron'tlier ;^ 
The vera wee things, todlin, rin 

Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther; 
An' gif the custoc's * sweet or sour, 

Wi' jocteleps '•• they taste them ; 
Syne cozily, aboon the door, 

Wi' cannie care they've placed them 
To lie that night. 
The lasses staw '" frae 'mang them a' 

To pou their stalks o' corn ; ' ' 
But Rab slips out, an' jinks '■^ about, 

Behint the muckle thorn : 
He grippet Nelly hard an' fast ; 

Loud skirled a' the lasses ; 
But her tap-pickle maist was lost, 

When kiutlin '* in the fause-house' 
Wi' him that night. 
The auld guid\vife's weel-hoordet nits*' 

Are round an' round divided, 
And monie lads' and lasses' fates 

Are there that night decided : 
Some kindle, couthie '* side by side, 

An' burn thegither trimly ; 
Some start awa' wi' saucy pride. 
And jump out-owre the chimlie 

Fa' high that night. 

' Half-witted. '^ Cabbage. s PuHed. 

* Cabbage stem. * Crooked. ^ Earth. 

^ In confusion. ^ The cabbage heart. ' Knives. 

'» Stole. 

•' They go to the bam-yard and pull each, at three several times, a 
Btalk of oats. If tlie third stalk wants the top-pickle, that is, the grain 
at the top of the stalk, the party in question will come to the marriage- 
bed anything but a maid. — Burss. 

'•- Dodges. '3 Cuddling. 

'■" When the com is in a doubtful state, oy being too green, or wet, the 
stack-builder, by means of old timler, &c., makes a large apartment in 
his stack, with an opening in the side which is fairest exposed to the 
wind : this he calls a fause-house. — -P)Urns. 

'* Burning the nuts is a fimous charm. They name the lad and lass to 
each particular nut, as they lay them in the fire, and accordingly as they 
burn quietly together, or start from beside one another, the course aud 
issue of the courtship will be.— Burns, w Lovingly. 



lib 



nil „ , ,; r 



32 HALLOWEEN. 

Jean slips in twa wi' tentie ' e'e; - • '■ 

Wha 'twas, slie wadna tell ; 
But this is Jock, an' this is me, 

She says in to hersel' : 
He bleezed owre her, and she owre liinif 

As they wad never mair joart ; 

Till fuffihe started up the lum,^ 

, An' Jean had e'en a sair heart 

To see't that night. 

Poor "Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt, 

"Was brunt wi' pi-imsie Mallie ; 
An' Mallie, nae doubt, took the drunt,* 

To be compared to Willie : 
Mall's nit lap out wi' pridefu' fling, 

An' her ain fit it brunt it ; 
"While "Willie lap, and swoor by jing, 

'Twas just the way he wanted 

To be that night. 

Nell had the fause-honse in her min'. 

She pits hersel' an' Eob in ; 
In loving bleeze they sweetly join, 

Till white in ase * they're sobbin' : 
Nell's heart was danciii' at the view. 

She whispered Eob to leuk for 't : 
Eob, stowlius,* prie'd** her bonnie mouj^ 

Fu' cozie in the neuk for 't, 

Unseen that night. 

But Merran sat behint their backs, 

Her thoughts on Andrew Bell ; 
She lea's them gashing at their cracks. 

And slips out by hersel' : 
She through the yard the nearest tak's. 

An' to the kiln she goes then. 
An' darklins grajDit for the 'bauks,^ 
And in the blue-clue ^ throws then, 

Eio-ht fear't that night. 
' CautioTiS. ' Chimney. s pg|. 

* Ashes. ^ By stealth. « Tasted. 

' Mouth. 6 Beams. 

^ Whoever would, with success, try this spell, must strictly observa 
these directions : Steal out, all alone, to the kiln, and, darkling, throw 
into the pot a clue of blue yarn ; wind it in a new clue oft' the old one: 
and, towards the latter end, something will hold the thread: demand, 
Wha hands ? i.e., who holds ? An answer will Le returned from the kiln- 
pot, by naming the Christian and surname of your future spouse. — Burns. 



HALLOWEEN. d3 

An' ay she witi't, au' ay she swat, 

I wat she made iiae jankin ;' 
Till something- held within the pat, 

Guid Jjord ! but she was quakin' J 
Bnt whether 'twas the De'il himsel', 

Or whether 'twas a bauk-en', 
Or whether it was Andrew Bell, 

She did na wait on talkin' 

To spier " that night. 

Wee Jennie to her Grannie says, 

" Will ye go wi' me, graimie? 
I'll eat the apple ^ at the glass 

T gat frae uncle Johnnie : " 
She f Lift^'t * her pipe wi' sic a hint,* 

In wrath she was sae vap'rin', 
She notic't na, an aizle " briint 

Her braw new worset apron 

Ont tln-ongh that nights 

•* Te little skelpie-limmer's face ! 
How daur you try sic sportin', 
As seek the foul Thief ony place, 
For him to spae' your fortune! 
Nae doubt but ye may get a sight ! 

Great cause ye hae to fear it ; 
For monie a ane has gotten a fright. 
An' lived an' died deleeret 

On sic a night. 

■•*Ae hairst' afore the Sherra-mooi*,''^ 
I mind 't as weel's yestreen, 
I was a gilpey '" then, I'm sure 

I was na past fifteen : 
The simmer had been cauld an' wat, 

An' stuff was unco green; 
An' ay a ranting kirn ' ' we gat, 
An' just on Halloween 

It fell that night. 

-' Delaying. * Inquire. 

' Take a candle, and go alone to a looking-glasss ; eat an upple before 
it, and some traditions say, you should coinb your liair ai] the lime; the 
face of your conjugal companion to be will be seen ia the glass, as il 
peeping over your shoulder. 

* Blew. ' Column of smoke. * Hot cinder. 

' Tell. " One harvest. 

« The battle of Sheriff Moor. »° A romp. 

" Harvest supper. 



a 



M 



84 HMXOWEEN. 

•'Our stibble-rig ' was Rab M'Garettj 
A clever, sturdy fallow ; 
He's sin' gat Eppie Sim wi' wean. 

That lived in Achraacalla ; 
He gat hemp-seed,- 1 mind it weei. 

An' he made unco light o't ; 
But mouie a day was by himsel', 
He was sae sairly frighted 

That vera night.'* 



Then up gat fetchtin' Jamie Fleck, 

An' he swore hj his conscience, 
That he could saw hemjo-seed a peck ; 

For it was a' but nonsense : 
The auld guidman raught'"' dov/n the pockj 

An' out a handfu' gied him ; 
Syue bade him slip frae 'inang the folk, 

Sometime when na ane see'd him,, 

An' try't that night. 

He marches through amang the stacks. 

Though he was something sturtin,^ 
The graip* he for a harrow tak'Sj 

And haui'ls at his curpin : ® 
An' every now an' then he saySf 

" Hemp-seed I saw thee ; 
An' her that is to be my lasg. 

Come after me an' draw thee, 

As fast this night,** 

He whistled up Lord Lenox' March, 

To keep his courage cheery ; 
Although his h.air began to arch, 

He was sae fley'd '* an eerie ; 

' Head reaper. 

' Steal out, unperceived, and sow fi handful of Lemp-seed, harrowing 
it with anything you can conveniontly draw after you. Repeat now and 
then, " Hemp-seed I saw thee ; hemp-seed I maw thee; and him (or her) 
that is to be my true love, eonie after nae and pou thee." Look over your 
U^ft shoulder, and you will see the appearimce of the person invoked, iu 
the attitude of piiUiug hemp. Some traditions say, " Come after me, 
and shaw thee," that is, show thyself ; in wjiich case it simply appears. 
Others omit the harrowing, and say, "Come after me, and harrow thee." 

•^BURNS. 

* Reached. ■• Prighteaed, or viBud. * Dung-fork. 

• Prags it behind him. ^ Frightened. 



,^ J 



JIAL1.0''XEEN. 35 

Till presently he hears a squeak. 

An' then a grane an' gruntle ; 
He by his shouther gae a keek, 

An' tumbled wi' a wintle' 

Out-owre that nighi. 

He roared a. horrid murder-shout, 

In dreadfu' desperation ! 
An' young an' auld carne rinnin out, 

An' hear the sad narration : 
He swoor 'twas liilchin - Jean M'Craw, 

Or cranchie^ Merran Humphiie, 
Till stop! she trotted through them a* 5 

An' vv was it but Grnmphie * 

Asteer ^ that night ! 

Meg fain wad to the barn gaen, 

To win three wechts ^ o' naething; ' 
But for to meet the deil her lane, 

She pat but little faith in : 
She gies the herd a pickle nits,' 

An' twa red-cheekit apples. 
To watch, while for the barn she u±%^ 

In hoises to see Tam Kipples 

That vera night. 

She turns the key wi' cannie tliraw,® 

An' owre the threshold ventures ; 
But first on Sawnie gies a ca', 

Syne bauldly in she enters ; 
A ratton '" rattled up the wa', 

An' she cried, Lord preserve her \ 
An' ran through midden-hole an' a' 

An' prayed wi' zeal an' fervour, 

Fu' fast that night. 



' Stagger. ' Halting. ^ Crooked back. 

* The I'ig. " Abroad. ^ Corn baiskets. 

' This charm must likewise be performed imperceived, and alone. You 
go to the barn, and open both doors, taking them off the hinges, if possible ; 
lor there is danger that the being about to appear may shut the doors, 
and do yon some mischief. Then take that insti'ument used in winnowing 
the corn, which, in our country dialect, we call a " wecht ; ' and go 
through all the attitudes of letting down corn against the wind. Repeat 
it three times ; and the third time an ai>parition will pass through the 
barn in at the windy door and out at the other, having both the figure 
in question, and the appearance or retinue, marking the employment or 
station in life. — Burns. 

• Few nuta. * (yeatle twist. '" A rat 



a 



n HALLOWEEN. 

They hoy't ' omt Will, wi' sair advice ; 

Th(_>y heclif'^ liim some fine hraw awi; 
It clianced the stack he faddomed thi-ice," 

Was timme'" propt for thrawing; 
Ee talv's a swirlie ■• auld moss-oak, 

For some black, grousome carlin; * 
An' loot a wiuze,^ an' drew a stroke, 

Till skin in blypes'' came haiirlin 

Aff 's nieves** that nigtiTi* 

A wanton widow Leezie was, 

As canty as a kittlin ; 
Bat och ! that nic«;ht, amang the shawa. 

She got a feart'u' settlin ! 
She throxigh the whins,^ an' by the cairn, 

An' owre the hill gaed scrievin, 
Whare three lairds' lands iiiet at a burn.*® 

To dip her left sark-sleeve in, 

Was bent that night. 

Whyles owre a linn the bnrnie plays, 

As through the glen it wimpl't; . ; 

Whyles round a rocky scar " it stray e, 

Whyles in a wiel^^ it dimpl't; 
Wliyles glittered to the nightly rays, 

Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle; 
Whyles cookit '® nnderneath the braes, 

]3elow the spreading hazel, 

Unseen that nighii. 

Amang the branchens,'* on the brae. 

Between her an' the moon. 
The deil, or else an outler quey,'* 

Gat up an' gae a croon ; '" 

Urged. * Prnrnised. 

' Take an opportunity of going, unnoticed, to a liear-iitack, and fathom 
it three times round. The last fathom of the hist time you will catch in 
ycnir arms the appearance of your future conjugal yoke-fellow. — Burns. 

' Knotty. * Hideous old woman. '■' Swore an oath. 

7 Shreds. « Hands. '■> Gorse. 

'* You go out, one or more, for this is a social spell to a sonth-nmning 
spring or rivulet, where "three lainls' lauds meet,'' and dip your left 
shirt-sleeve. Go to bed in sight of a fire, and hang your wet sleeve before 
it to dry. Lie awake; and, some time near midnight, an apparition, 
having the exact figure of the gr-f'^fl objeit in question, will come and 
\urn the sleeve, a,s if to dry the cthurT side of it. — Burks. 

<';iff. ^- Eddy. '■' Appeared im' lavished. 

*• Fern. ** U^bou^'fjcl heifer. '» Moan, 



.-.n 



MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. 37 

Poor Leezic's heart maist lap the hool; * 

Near lav'rock heignt she jumpit, 
But mist a fit, an' in the pool 

Out-owre the Ings she plumpit, 

^Vi' a plunge that night» 

In Older, on the clean liearth-staue, 

The luggies three '^ are ranged, 
And every time great care is ta'en 

To see them duly changed ; 
Anld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys 

Sin' Mai-'s year^ did desire, 
Because he gat the toom*-dish thrice, 

He heaved them on the fire 

In wrath that night. 

V/i' merry sangs, an' friendly cracks, 

I wat they did na weary; 
An' nnco tales, an' fuTinie jokes. 

Their sports were cheap an' cheery; 
Viil buttered so'ns,* wi' fragrant lunt,* 

Set a' their gabs^ a-steerin' ; 
Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt,^ 

Tiiey parted aff careerin' 

Fu' blithe that night 



MAN WAS MADE TO MOUHU 

A DIEGE. 

When chill November's surly blast 

Made fields and forests l;are. 
One evening, as I wandered forth 

Along the banks of Ayr, 
I spiied a man, whose aged step 

Seemed weary, worn with care ; 
His face was furrowed o'er with yeara^ 

And hoary was his hair. 

' Burst Its cass. 

' Take three dishes ; put clean water in one, foul vrater *t^ another, 
leave the third empty: blindfold a person, and lead him to viie heart''-' 
•where the dishes are ranged ; he (or she) dips the left hand ; if by chance 
in the clean water, t'»e future husband or wife will come to the bar oi 
matrimony a maid ; if in the foul, a widow; if in the empty dish, it 
foretells, with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It is repeated three 
times, and every time the arrangement of the dishes is altared. — Burks. 

M815. ^ Emptr- 

^ Sowens, with butter instead of milk to them, is always the Halloween 
supper. — Burns. 

* Smoke. ■ Mouths. * Spirit"ovs liquor. 



:1 



Z8 JIAiV WAS MADE TO MOURN. 

"Young stranger, whither wanderest thou ? * 

Began the reverend sage ; 
"Does thiist of wealth thy step constrain. 

Or youthful pleasure's rage ? 
Or, haply, pressed ^f ith cares and woes. 

Too soon thon hast began 
To wander forth, with nie, to mourn 

The miseries of man ! 

"The sun that overhangs yon moors. 

Out-spreading far and wide, 

"Where hundreds labour to support 

A haughty lordling's pride ; 
I 've seen yon weary winter sun 

Twice forty times return ; 
And every time has added proofs 
That man was made to mourn. 

** O man ! while in thy early years, 

How 2:)rodigal of time ! 
Misspending all thy precious houra, 

Thy glorious youthful prime ! 
Alternate follies take the sway, 

Licentious passions burn ; 
Which tenfold force gives Nature's law. 

That man was made to mourn. 

•* Look not alone on youthful prime, 

Or manhood's active might; 
Man then is useful to his kind, 

Supported is his right : 
But see him on the edge of life. 

With cares and sorrows worn, 
Then age and want — oh, ill-matched pair l-~ 

Show man was made to mourn. 

*A few seem favourites of fate, 

In Pleasure's lap caressed ; 
Yet, think not all the rich and great 

Are likewise truly blest. 
But, oh ! what crowds in every land, 

Are wretched and forlorn ! 
Through weary life this lesson learn. 

That man was made to mourn. 

** Many and sharp the num'rons ills 
Inwoven with our frame ; 
More pointed still we make ourselves, 
Eegret, remorse, and shame 1 



u 



"I 



MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. 39 

And man, whose heaven-erected face 

The smiles of love adorn, 
Man's inhumanity to man 

Makes countless thousands mourn I 



' See yonder poor, o'erlaboured wight, 

So abject, mean, and vile. 
Who begs a brother of the earth. 

To give him leave to toil ; 
And see his lordly fellow-worm 

The poor petition spurn. 
Unmindful, though a weeping wife 

And heljoless offspring mouni. 



•* If I 'm designed yon lordling's slavo 

By Nature's law designed, 
"Why was an independent wish 

E'er planted in my mind ? 
If not, why am I subject to 

His cruelty or scorn ? 
Or why has man the will and power 

To make his fellow mourn ? 



* Yet let not this too much, my son. 

Disturb thy youthful breast; 
This partial view of humankind 

Is surely not the best ! 
The poor, oppi-essed, honest man. 

Had never, sure, been born, 
Had there not been some recompense 

To comfort those that mourn. 

' O Death ! the poor man's dearest friend— 

The kindest and the best ! 
Welcome the hour my aged limbs 

Are laid with thee at rest ! 
The great, the wealthy, fear thy blcw» 

From pomp and pleasure torn ; 
But, oh ! a blest relief to those 

That weary -laden mourn I" 



n 



40 



ADDEESS TO THE DE'IL. 

Prince ! Chief of many throned Powers, 
That led th' embattled Seraphim to war. 

MiLTOIl, 

O THOU ! whatever title suit thee, 
Auld Hornie, Sat-m, Nick, or C ootie, 
Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie, 

Closed under hatches, 
Spairges * about the brunstane cootie,^ 

To scaud poor wretches ! 

Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee, 
An' let poor damned bodies be ; 
I'm sure sma' jDleasure it can gie. 

E'en to a de'il, 
To skelp an' scaud j^oor dogs like me, 

An' hear us squcel I 

Great is thy power, an' great thy fame ;* 

Far ken'd and noted is thy name ; 

An' though yon lowin hough's^ thy hame. 

Thou travels far ; 
An' faith ! thou's neither lag nor lame. 

Nor blate ® nor scaur.?" 

Whyles, ranging like a roarin' lion. 
For prey a' lioles an' corners tryin' ; 
Whyles on the strong-wiuged temi^cst flyin', 

Tirlin' the kirks ; ^ 
Whyles in the human bosom pryin', 

Unseen thou lurks. 

' It was, I tliink, in the winter of 1784, as we were going with carts 
for f:o;ils for the family fire (and I could yet point out the partici'.lar spot), 
that Ilobert i'lv.it repeated to me the " Address to the Dt-'il." Tlie curious 
idea of surli an address was suggested to him by running over in liis mind 
the many ludicrous accounts and lepre-.t-ntations we liave from various 
quarters of this august personage. — Gilbicrt B'jrns. 

■ Sjihishing violently ^ Brimston-dish. 

* Tiiis Verse ran originally thus: — 

Lang syne in Eden's happy scene, 
When .strajnan' Adam'3 drya were green. 
And Eve was like my bonnie Jean, 

My dearest part, 
A dancin', sweet, j'oung, liandsome quean, 

Wi' guileless heart. 

* Flaming abyss. " Sheepish- ' Fearful, or scared. 

* Unroofing the churches. 



Q 



ADDRESS TO THE DE'IL -11 

I've hes,rcl iijy reverend Graunie say, 
In lanely glens ye like to stniy; 
Or where auld ruined ciistles. gray, 

Nod to tlie moon, 
Ye fright the nightly \\'anderer's way, 

Wi' eldritch croon.* 

When twih'ght did my Grannie summon, 
To say her prayers, donee, honest won;an! 
Aft yont the djke fjiie's heard you Ijuurrjiia, 

Wi' eerie drone ; 
Or, rustlin', through the bocrtries '•^ comiu', 

Wi' heavy groan. 

Ae dreary, windy, wduter night, 

Ilie stars shot down wi' sklentin'' Hght^ 

Wi' you, mysel', I gat a fright, 

Ayonl* the loug-h 1 
Xe, like a rash-bush^ stood in sight, 

Wi' waving sugli. 

The cudgel in my nieve * did shake. 

Each bristled hair stood like a stake, 

When wi' an eldritch stour,' cjnaick — quaick— • 

Arnang the springs 
Away ye squattered,' like a drake. 

On whistling wings. 

Let AVarlocks grim, an' withered hags, 
Tell how wi' you on ragweed nags. 
They skim the inuirs, an' dizzy crags, 

Wi' wicked spied ; 
And in kirkyards renew their Implies 

Owrc howkit^ dead. 

Thence countra wives, wi' toil an' pain. 
May plunge an' plunge the kirn" in vain; 
For, oh ! the yellow treasure's ta'en 

By witching skill; 
An' dawtit twal-pint Hawkie's " gaen 

As yell's the Bill. '2 



*■ Ghostly groan. * Elder-bnslies. ■* Sianting. 

* Bnyond. * Hush -bush. ® Fi^t. 

'' Hol ow, supernntural. •■• Fiirured. 

' Disinterred dead bodies. '* Churu. 

" P'-itt'd Iwrlve-pint ilawkie — i.e., the favourite cow. 
'* Milliless as the bull. 



ADDRESS TO THE DE'IL. 



Thence mystic knots mak' great abuse, 

On young guidman, fond, keen, an' crouse;* 

When the best wavk-lume i' the house, 

By cantrip'"' wit, 
Is instant made no worth a louse, 
Just at the bit. 

When thowes ^ dissolve the snawy hoord. 
An' float the jingling icy-boord. 
Then water-kelpies haunt the foord 

By your direction, 
An' 'nighted trav'llers are allured 

To their destruction. 

An' aft your moss-traversing Spunkies ^ 
Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is : 
The bleezing, curst, mischievous monkeys 

Delude his eyes. 
Till in some miry slough he sunk is, 

Ne'er mair to rise. 

When Masons' mystic word an' grip, 
In storms an' tempests raise you up. 
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop. 

Or, strange to tell ! 
The youngest Brother ye wad Avbip 

Afi" straught to hell ! 

Lang syne, in Eden's bonnie yard, 
When youthfu' lovers first were paired. 
An' all the soul of love they shared, 

The raptured hour. 
Sweet on the fragrant, flowery swaird, 

In shady bower: 

Then yoa, ye auld, snick-drawing^ dog; 

Ye came to Paradise incog., 

An' played on man a cursed brogue,^ 

(Black be your fa' !) 
An' gied the infant -warld a shog,' 

'Maist ruined a'. 

D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz,* 
Wi' reekit duds,^ an' reestit gizz,"* 
Ye did present your smoutie phiz 

'Mang better fo'k. 
An' sklented" on the man of Uz 

Your spitefu' joke ? 



' Courageous. 
* Wills-o'-the-Wisp. 
' Shake. 
"• Singed hair. 



^ Magic. 

* Latch breaking. 

* Huny. 
" Darted. 



■^ Thaws. 

6 Trick. 

^ Smoky clothesL 




An' how ye gat him i' your thrall, 
An' brak him out o' house an' hail, 
While scabs an' blotches did him gall, 

Wi' bitter claw, 
An' lowsed his ill-tongued, wicked ScawV 

Was warst avaP 

But a' your doings to rehearse, 
Your wily snares an' fechtin' fierce, 
Sin' that day Michael '^ did you pierce, 

Down to this time. 
Wad ding a Lallan^ tongue, or Erse, 

In prose or rhyme. 

An' now, auld Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin*, 
A certain Bardie's rantin', drinkin' ; 
Some luckless hoxir will send him linkiu' 

To your black pit ; 
But, faith ! he'll turn a corner jinkin',* 

An' cheat you yet. 

But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben ! 
Oh, wad ye tak' a thought an' men' !' 
Ye aiblins ^ might — I diuna ken — 

Still l>ae a stake — 
I'm wae to think upo' yon den, 

Ev'n for yom* sake 1 



THE VISION. 
DUAN rmsT.' 

The sun had closed the winter day. 
The Curlers * quat their roaring play, 
An' hungered maukin ^ ta'en her way 

To kail-yards green. 
While faithless snaws ilk step betray 

Whare she has been 

' Scold (his wife). * Vide Milton, Book vi.- ' Lowland. 

* Dodging. * Mend. 8 Perhaps. 

' Duan, a term of Ossian's for the different divisions of a digressiva 
poem. See his " Cath-Loda," Vol. ii. of M'Pherson's translation. — Burns. 

* Curling is a game played with stones on the ice ; ciurlers, the players 
St it. 

' A hare. 



_r 



44 THE VISION. 

Tlie tKreslier's weary fliii<:in-tree 
The lee-kiug day had tired nie; 
And whau the day had closed his e'e. 

Far i' the west, 
Ben i' the spence,' right pensivelie, 

I gaed to rest. 

There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek,"'* 
] sat and eyed the spewing reek. 
That filled, wi' hoast-provokiug smeek, 

The auld clay biggia' ;* 
An' heard the restless rattons sqneak 

About the riggin'. 

All in this mottie, misty clime, 
I backwai'd mused on wasted time, 
How I had spent my youtht'u' in'ime, 

An' done nae-thing. 
But sti'ingin' blethers* up in rhyme, 

For tools to sing. 

Had I to guid advice but harkit, 
I might, by this, hae led a market, 
Or strutted in a bank an' clarkit 

My cash-account : 
While here, half-mad, half- fed, half-sarkit,* 

Is a' th' amount. 

I started, muttering, blockhead! coof!' 
And heaved on high my waukit loot,' 
To swear uj a' yuii starry roof. 

Or some rash aith. 
That I, henceforth, would be rhyme-proof 

Till my last breath — 

When click ! the string the snick ^ did draw; 
And, jee ! the door gaed to the wa'; 
An' by my ingle-lowe ^ I saw, 

Now bleezin bright, 
A tight, outlandish hizzie, braw, 

Come full in sight. 

Ye need na doubt, I held my whisht ; '" 
The infant aith, half-formed, was crusht ; 
I glowred as eerie's I 'd been diisht " 

In some wild glen ; 
When sweet, like modest woith, she blust 

And stepped ben. 

' Parlour. ' Chimney-corner. ^ Ilouse. 

* Nonsense. * Clothed — sark is a sliirt. 

• Kinny. ' Hard palm. ^ Latch. 

' Firelight. " Silence. '^ Pushed by an ox. 



o 



THE VISION. 4fi 

Green, slender, leaf-clad holly boughs 
Were twiste 1, gracefu", round her brows; 
I touk her tor some Scottish Muse, 

By that same token; 
An' come to stop those reckless vows, 

Wou'd soon been broken. 

A " hair-brained, sentimental trace," 
Was strongly marked in her face ; 
A wildly witty, rustic grace 

Shone full upon her; 
Her eye, ev'n turned on empty space. 

Beamed keen with Honour. 

Down flowed her robe, a tartan sheen, 
Till half a leg was scrimply seen ; 
And such a leg ! my bonnie Jean 

Could only j^eer it ; 
Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean, 

Nane else came near it. 

Her mantle large, of greenish hue, 

My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; 

Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw 

A lustre grand ; 
And seemed, to my astonished view, 

A well-known land. 

Here, rivers in the sea were lost ; 
There, mountains to the skies were tost: 
Here, tumbling billows marked the coast 

With surging foam ; 
There, distant shone Art's lotty boast. 

The lordly dome. 

Here, Doon poured down his far-fetched floods; 
There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds:' 
Auld hermit Ayr staw '■' through his woods, 

On to the shore ; 
And many a lesser torrent scuds, 

With seeming roar. 

Low, in a sandy valley spread, 

Au ancient borough^ reared her head; 

Still, as in Scottish story read. 

She boasts a race, 
To every nobler virtue bred. 

And polished grace. 

» Sounds:-. = Stole. » Ayr. 



40 THE VISION. 

By sfp.tely tower or palace fair, 

Or rnins pendent in the air, 

Bold stems of heroes, here and there, 

I could discern ; 
Some seemed to muse, some seemed to darft- 

With feature stern. 

My heart did glowing transport feel, 

To see a race ' heroic wheel, 

And brandish round the deep-dyed steel 

In sturdy blows ; 
While back-recoiling seem to reel 

Their suthron foes. 

His country's saviour,'^ mark him well I 
Bcid Richardton's ' heroic swell ; 
The chief on Sark,"* who glorious fell. 

In high command; 
And he whom ruthless fates expel 

His native land. 

There, where a sceptred Pictish shade* 
Stalked round his ashes lowly laid, 
I marked a martial race, pourtrayed 

In coiours strong; 
Bold, soldier-featured, undismayed 

They strode along. 

Through many a wild romantic grove,* 
Near many a hermit-fancied cove, 
(Fit haunts for friendship or for love,) 

In musing mood, 
An aged Judge, I saw him rove. 

Dispensing good. 

' The Wallaces. — Burns. * William Wallace. — Burns. 

• Adam Wallace, of Richardton, coosia to the immortal preserver of 
Scottish independence. — Burns. 

^ W;illace, Laird of Oraigie, -who -was second in command, under 
Douglas, Earl of Ormond, at the famous hattle on the banks of Sark, 
fought anno 1448. That glorious victory was principally owing to the 
judicious conduct and intrepid valour of the gallant Laird of Craigie, 
who died of his woimds after the action. — Burns. 

• Coilus, king of the Picts, from whom the district of Kyle is said to 
take its name, iios buried, as tradition says, near the family seat of the 
Montgomeries of Coils-field, where his burial-place is still shown.— 
Burns. 

• Barskimming, the seat of the late Lord Justice Clerk. 



THE VISION. • 49 

"With deep-struck reverential awo. 
The learned sire and son ' I saw, 
To Nature's God and Nature's law 

They gave their lore, 
This, all its source and end to draw, 

That, to adore. 

Brydone's brave ward ^ I well could spy. 
Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye ; 
Who called on Fame, low standing by. 

To hand him on, 
Where many a patriot-name on higlx. 

And hero shone. 



DUAN SECOND. 

With tniising deep, astonished stare, 
I viewed the heavenly seeming fair ; 
A whisp'ring throb did witness bear. 

Of kindred sweet. 
When with an elder sister's air 

She did me greet. 

* All hail my own inspired bard ! 
In me thy native Muse regard ! 
Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, 

Thus poorly lew I 
I come to give thee such reward 

As we bestow. 

* Know, the great genius of this land 
Has many a Hght, aerial band. 
Who, all beneath his high command, 

Harmoniously, 
As arts or arms they understand, 

Their labours ply. 

"They Scotia's race among them share; 
Some fire the soldier on to dare ; 
Some rouse the patriot up to bare 

Corruption's heart: 
Some teach the bard, a darhng care, 
The tuneful art. 

' Dr. Stewart and his son (the celebrated Dugald Stewart) ; thej livid 
at Catrine. 

» Col. Fullartoa. 



48 • . THE VISION. 

" 'Mong swellincr floods of reeking gore, 
They, a i dent, kindling spirits pour; 
Or, 'mid the venal senate's roar. 

They sightless stand. 
To mend the honest patriot-lore, 

And grace the hand. 

•• And when the bard, or hoaiy sage, 
Charm or instruct the future age, 
They bind the wild poetic rage 

In energy. 
Or point the inconclusive page 

Full on the eye. 

"Hence FuUarton, the brave and young; 
Hence Dempster's zeal-insj^ired tongue; 
Hence sweet harmonious Beattie sung 

His ' Minstrel Lays;* 
Or tote, with noble ardour stung, 

The sceptic's bays. 

** To lower orders are assigned 
The humbler ranks of Humankind, 
The rustic bard, the lab'ring hind. 
The artisan ; 
All choose, as various they 're inclined, 
The various man. 

*' When yellow waves the heavy grain, 
The threat'ning storm some strongly reinj 
Some teach to meliorate the plain. 

With tillage skill ; 
And some instruct the shepherd train, 
Bhthe o'er the hill. 

** Some hint the lover's harmless wile ; 
Some grace the maiden's artless smile; 
Some soothe the lab'rer's weary toil. 

For humble gains, 
And make his cottage-scenes beguile 

His cares and paina. 

*' Some, bounded to a district space. 
Explore at large man's infant race, 
To mark the embryotic trace 

Of rustic bard; 
And careful note each opening grace, 
A guide and guard. 



Pr 



THE VISION. 49 



** Of these am I — Coila my name ; 
And this district as mine I claim, 
Where once the Cam])bells, chiefg cf fame» 

Held ruling power: 
I marked thy embryo tuneful llame, 

Thy natal hour. 

"With future hope I oft would gaze 
Fond, on thy little early ways, 
Thy rudely cai'oUed, cliiming phi-ase, 

In uncouth rhymes 
Fired at the simple, artless lays 

Of other times. 

*'I saw thee seek the sounding shore. 
Delighted with the dashing roar ; 
Or when the Xorth his fleecy store 

Drove through the sky, 
I saw grim ^Nature's visage hoar 

Struck thy young eye. 

** Or when the deep green-mantled earth 
Warm cherished every floweret's birth. 
And joy and music pouring forth 

In every grove, 
I saw thee eye the ge'ieml oiirth 

With boundlesfj lovft 

**When ripened fields, and azure skies. 
Called forth the reaper's rustling noise, 
I saw thee leave their evening joys. 

And lonely stalk, 
To vent thy bosom's swelling rise 

In pensive walk. 

"When youthful love, warm -blushing, strong, 
Keen-sliivering s,hot thy nei-ves along. 
Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, 
Th' adored Name, 
I taught thee how to pour in song, 

To sooth thy flame. 

* I saw thy pulse's maddening play, 
Wild send thee Pleasure's devious way, 
Misled by Fancy's meteor ray, 

Bj Passion driven ; 
But yet the light that led astray 

Was hght from Heaven. 



ri 



-ir 



60 THE VISION. 

" I taught thy manners-painting strains. 
The loves, the ways, of simple swaina, 
Till now, o'er all my wide domains 

Thy fame extends; 
And some, the pride of Coila's plains, 

Become thy friends. 

**Thoii canst not learn, nor can I show. 
To paint with Thomson's landscape glow; 
Or wake the bosom-melting throe 

With Shenstone's art; 
Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow 

"Warm on the heart. 

••Tet all beneath th' unrivalled rose. 
The lowly daisy sweetly blows : 
Though large the forest's monarch throws 

His army shade, 
Tet green the jnicy hawthorn grows 

Adown the glade. 

* Then never murmur or repine ; 

Strive in thy humble sphere to shine; 
And trust me, not Potosi's mine, 

Nor kings' regard. 
Can give a bliss o'ennatching thine, 

A rustic Bard. 

•* To give my counsels all in one — 
Thy tuneful flame still careful fan ; 
Preserve the Dignity of Man, 

With soul erect; 
And trust, the Universal Plan 

Will aU protect. 

"And wear thou this " — she solemn said. 
And bound the holly round my head : 
The polished leaves, and berries red. 

Did rustling playj 
And, like a passing thought, she fled 
In hght away. 



IN 



61 



A WINTER IHGHT. 



Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, 
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm ! 
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed sides, 
Your looped and windowed raggedness, defend you 
From seasons such as these ? — Shakspeakb. 



"When biting Boreas, fell and doure,' 
Sharp shivers through the leafless bower; 
When Phoebus gi'es a short-lived glower 

Far south the lift,' 
Dim darkening through the flaky shower, 

Or whirling drift : 

Ae night the storm the steeples rocked, 
Poor iaboiir sweet in sleep was locked. 
While burns, wi' snawy wreeths up-choked. 

Wild-eddying swirl. 
Or through the mining outlet bocked,' 

Down headlong hurL 

List'ning, the doors an' winnocks * rattle, 
I thought me on the ourie * cattle. 
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle ® 

0' winter war. 
And through the drift, decp-lairing sprattle/ 

Beneath a scar.' 

Dk happing^ bird, wee, helpless thing. 
That, in the merry months o' spring, 
Delighted me to hear thee sing, 

What comes o' thee P 
Whare wilt thou cower thy chittering wing, 

An' close thy e'e ? 

Ev'n you on murdering errands toiled. 

Lone from your savage homes exiled, 

The blood-stained roost, and sheep-cote spoiled. 

My heart forgets. 
While pitiless the tempest wild 

Sore on you beats. 

Kow Phoebe, in her midnight reign, 
Dark muffled, viewed the dreary plain ; 

• Stem. » Sky. ^ Gushed. 

* "Windows. * Shivering. ^ Hurry. 

' Wading, scramble. * Cliff, » Hopping. 



4 



62 



WINTER NIGHT. 

Still crowfling thoTights, a pensive train, 
ITT, I^o«e :n my soul, 

When on my ear this plaintive strain. 

Slow, solemn, stole : 

" ?nTv''^°'''' -r "^'"^^^^ '^^^'^ ^^'-ivier gust I 
And freeze, thou bitter l,iting frost F 
Dtscend, ye chilly, smothering snows 
^No. a 1 your rage, as now united, shows 
More hard unkindness, unrelenting, 
V engoful mahee unrepenting, 

^ce stei 1! Uppreasion s iron frrin. 
Or inad Ambition's gory hnnd,^ 
Sonding, hke bloodhounds from the slip, 
Woe, want, and murder o'er a land ' ^ 
Ev n in the peaceful rural vale, 
irutli, weeping, tells the mournful tale 
How pan.pered Luxury, Flattery by hei side 
Ihopai.siteemix>isoningherir, '' 

^^ ith all the servile wretches iu the rear 

And';.?.""? ^"^''"^^' ^-^^--^-^ -ide 
And (.yes the simple rustic hind, 

TV hose toil upholds the glittering show. 
A creature of nnother kind 

Placed ;r r'T''if"'''*'^"^'''' ""'-cfitied, 

Placed for her lordly use fhus i,,, thu. vile beW 

U dh lordly Honour-s lofty brow, 
1 he powers you proudly own P 
Ls there beneath Love's nohle name, 
t,M h>r).our. dark, fhe selfish aim, 
io blesj hnnself alone? 
Mark maiden innocence a prey 
to loye-preteu ding snares; 
J his b(_,asted honour turns away, 
Shunning soft Pity's rising .sway 
Beg.u-dless of the tears, and um.vaibn^. prayers' 
^';'-haps,_this hour, in Misery's sqTn dnei' 

ohy:^h:^:;.:r-:^-i^-tf-kingbia^, 

?,""'•■ «■'■■■> "">n,e„f, or, his w,,.*,,l,«l%,™' 

i l"™.;;","?' ""t*^ "••"'"' <"*<■ ''!»"■„• 



s 



^Eh-YFAR MORNING SALUTATION. 63 

Think on the dungeon's grim confine, 
Where Guilt and poor Misfortune pine! 
Guilt, erring man, relenting view ! 
But shall thy legal rage pursue 
The wretch, already crushed low 
By cruel fortune's undeserved blow ? 
Affliction's sons are brothers in distress, 
A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss ! ** 

I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer 

Shook off the ponthery snaw, 
And hailed the morning with a cheer, 

A cottage-rousing craw. 

But deep this truth impressed my mind — 

Through all His works abroad, 
The heart, benevolent and kind, 

The ir.ost resembles God. 



THE AULD FARMER'S N"EW - YEAR MORNING 
SALUTATION TO HIS AULD MARE MAGGIE, 

ON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED EIP OF CORN TO HANSEL IN 

THE NEW YEAR. 

A GUiD New Year I wish thee, Maggie ! 
Hae, there 's a rip ' to thy auld baggie : 
Though thou 's howe-backit now and knaggie,* 

I 've seen the day 
Thou could hae gacn like ony staggie 

Out-owre the lay.'' 

Though now thou's dowie,* stiff, an' crazy, 
An' thy auld hide 's as white 's a daisy, 
I 've seen thee dappl't, sleek, and glaizie, 

A bonny grey : 
He should been tight that daur't to raize thee 

Ance in a day. 

Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, 
A filly buirdly, steeve, an' swank,* 
An' set weel down a shapely shank 

As e'er tread yird ; • 
An' could hae flown out-owre a stank' 

Like onie bird. 

• A handful of com in the stalks. - Sunk in tlie back and sharp-boned 

• Lea. * Spiritless. 

• Strong, active, and stately. ® Enrtli. ^ Ditch or mora-s*; 



1 



M THE AULD FARMER'S 

It 's now some niue-an'-twenty year 
Sin' thou was my guid father's meere; 
He gied me thee, o' tocher ' clear, 

An' fifty mark ; 
Though it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear. 

An' thou was stark* 

When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, 
Ye then was trottin' wi' your minnie : ' 
Though ye was trickle, slee, an' funnie. 

Ye ne'er was donsie ;* 
But hamely, tawie, quiet, an' cannie, 

An' unco sonsie.* 

That day ye pranced wi' muckle i:)ride^ 
When ye bure hame my bonnie bride: 
An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride, 

Wi' maiden air ! 
Kjle Stewart I could bragged ® wide. 

For sic a pair. 

Though now ye dow but hoyte' and hobble* 
An' wintle ^ like a saumont coble," 
That day ye was a jinker '" noble, 

For heels an' win' ! 
An' ran them till they a' did wauble,** 

Far, far behin'. 

When thou an' I were young and skeigh,'* 
An' stable meals at fairs were dreigh,"* 
How thou wad pi-ance, an' snore, an' skreigh. 

An' tak' the road ! 
Town's bodies ran, an' stood abeigh,'* 

An' ca't thee mad. 

When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow. 
We took the road ay like a swallow : 
At brooses '* thou had ne'er a fellow 

For jDith and speed ; 
But every tail thou pay't them hollow, 

Whare'er thou gaed. 

' "Without payment — tocher is a dower. ^ Strong. 

^ Mother. * Mischievous. ' Engaging; 

« Challenged. ' Limp. « Twist. 

^ A salmon boat. '" Runner. " Stagger. 

^ Mettlesome. " Tedioua. '• By, aside 

** Wedding races 



ilirT 



NEW.YEAR MORNING SALUTATION. 66 

The sma', droop-rumpl't,' hunter cattle. 
Might aiblins'' waur't thee for a brattle;' 
But sax Scotch miles thou try't their niettl^ 

An' gar't them whaizle : * 
Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle* 

0' saugh^ or hazeL 

Thou was a noble fittie-lan',^ 
As e'er in tug or tow was di-awn ! 
Alt thee an' I, in aught hours gaun, 

On guid March weather, 
Eae turned sax rood beside our han', 

For days thegither. 

Thou never braindg't," an' fech't,^ an' fliskit,'* 
But thy auld tail thou w£d hae whiskit, 
An' spread abreed thy well-filled briskit, 

Wi' pith and power, 
Till spritty knowes " wad rair't '^ and risket,'* 

An' slypet owre.'* 

When frosts lay lang, an' snaws wei"e deep^ 
An' threatened labour back to keep, 
I gied thy cog '* a wee bit heap 

Aboon the timmer ; '* 
I ken'd my Maggie wad na sleep 

For that, or simmer. 

In cart or car thou never reestit ; 

The steyest '^ brae thou wad hae fac't it; 

Thou never lap, an' sten't, an' breastit,'* 

Then stood to blaw ; 
But just thy step a wee thing hastit, 

Thou snoov't '^ awa'. 

My pleugh is now thy bairn -time a' ; ^ 
Four gallant brutes as e'er did drav/ ; 
Forbye sax mae, I 've sell't awa, 

That thou hast nurst: 
They di-ew me thretteen pund an' twa. 

The vera warst. 

' Sloping-backed. * Perhaps, 

' Woi-se thee in a short race. * Wliee20. 

* A switch. ^ Willow. 
' Tlie near horse of the hindmost pair at the ijlough. 

* Plunged forward. " Pulled by fits. '" Fretted. 
" Hillocks with rough-rooted plants in them. '* Rent. 

" Make a noise like the tearing of roots. '* Slip over. 

'* Wooden measure. "^ Timber. " Steepest. 

" Leaped, reared, or started forward. 

'* Went smoothly and constantly. 

*" My plough-team are all thy childrea. 



'tJ 



56 TO A LOUSE. 

Monie a auir daurk ' we twa hae wronglit^ 
An' wi' the weary warl' f'on^lit ! 
An' mouie an anxious day I tliouglit 

We wad be beat ! 
Yet here to crazy a.<:^e we 're brought, 

Wi' something yet. 

And think na, my auld, trusty servan*, 
Thau now perhaps thou 's less deserviu', 
An' thy auld days may end in stavvin'. 

For my last fow,^ 
A heapit stimpart;'' I'll reserve ane 

Laid by for you. 

We've vsrorn to crazy years thegither; 
We'll toyte* about wi' ane anither; 
"Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether 

To some hained rig," 
Whare ye may nobly rax ^ your leather, 

Wi' sma' fatio-ue. 



TO A LOUSE. 

Oir SEEIKG ONE C?T A LADY's BONNET AT CHUIWjH. 

Ha ! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin' ferlie ! ' 
Your impudence protects you sairly : 
I canna say but ye struut^ rarely 

Owre gauze and lace ; 
Though faith, I fear ye dine but sparely 

On sic a place. 

Ye ugly, creepin', blastit wonner, 
Detested, shunned by saunt an' sinner, 
How dare ye set yor.:: fit upon her, 

Sae fine a lady! 
Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner 

On some poor body. 

Swith," in some beggar's haffet '" squattle ;" 
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and sprattle '* 
Wi' ither kindred jumpin' cattle. 

In shoals and nations ; 
Whare horn or bane ne'er dare unsettle 

Your thick plantations. 

' Day's work. = Bushel. ^ Eighth part of a bushel 

* Move. * Spare rig. * Stretch. 

"< Wonder. * Strut. ^ Oet away. 

» Temple. " Sprawl. " Scramble. 



r 



THE INVENTORY. W 

Now liaiid ye there, ye' re cut o' sight, 
Below the fatt'i-ils,' snag an' tight; 
Na, faith ye yet ! ye "1 1 r o be right 

Til! y i 've got on it. 
The vera tapmost, towering height 

0' Miss's bonnet. 

My sooth ! right bauld ye set your iiose out, 
As plnmp and gvey as onie grozet : " 
Oh, for some rank, mercurial rozet,^ 

Or fell, rod sniedduui,'' 
I'd gie ye sic a hearty dose o't, 

Wad dress your droddum I 

I wad na been surjrised to spy 
You on an auld wife's Hainen toy,* 
Or aiblins some bit duddie ® iioy, 

On's wyliecoat ;' 
But Miss's fine Lunaidie'*— tiel 

How dare ye do't! 

Oh, Jenny, dinna toss your head, 
An' set your beauties a' abrcad ! 
Ye little ken wliat cursed speed 

The blastie's® mahin*! 
Thae winks and finger-ends, I dre;id, 

Are iiotice takin' \ 

Oh, wad some power the giftie pie us 
To see oursel's as others SfC iis ! 
It wad frae monie a blunder free us 

And foolish notion : 
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us. 

And e'en Devotion ! 

THE INVENTORY. 

XS ANSWER TO A MANDATE BY THE SURVETOU OF TAXES, EEQUa 
ING A llETUUN FOR THE ASSESSED TAXES. 

SiE, " as jowv mandate did request, 
I send you here a faithfu' list 
0' giiids and g'^ar, and a' my graitli. 
To which I 'ni clear to gie my aith. 

* Ribbon ends. * Gooseberry. ^ Rosin. 

* Powder. * Flaiuiel wip, ** Dii'ty. 
' F annel waistcoat. 

" The tksliionuble bonnet, so named after Lunardi, the aeronaut, who 
wad tclebratea in \l^b. 

* The withered dwarf. 

'" This rt-tiii-n was inudeto Mr. Aiken, the friend to whom "Tl.c >_ otter's 
Satm-day Jsight" was inscribed. 



D 



68 THE INVENTORY. 

Imi^rimis, then, for carriage cattle, 

I hae four brutes o' gallant mettle. 

As ever drew afore a pettle.' 

My han'-afore's ^ ai guid auld has-been, 

And wight and wiUu' a' his days been. 

My han'-ahin's ^ a weel-gaun filly, 

That aft has borne me hame frae KilUe,* 

And your auld burro' mony a time, 

In days when riding was nae crime — 

But ance, when in my wooing pride, 

I, like a blockhead boost ^ to ride. 

The wilfu' creature sae I pat to, 

(Lord, pardon a' ray sins, and that tool ) 

I played my fillie sic a shavie,® 

She 's a' bedevil'd wi' the spavie. 

My furr-ahin's '^ a worthy beast. 

As e'er in tug or toAv was traced. 

The fourth's a Highland Donald hastie, 

A damned red-wud Kilburnie blastie! 

Forbye a cowte,^ o' cowte's the wale,® 

As ever ran afore a tail ; 

If he be spared to be a beast. 

He '11 draw me fifteen pun' at least 

Wlieel-carriages 1 hae but few, 
Three carts, and twa are feckly '° new; 
An auld wheelbarrow, mair for token 
Ae leg and baith the trams are broken; - 
I made a poker o' the spin'le, 
And my auld mither brunt the trin'Ie. 
For men, I 've three mischievous boys, 
Eun-deils for rantin' and for noise ; 
A gaudsman ane, a thrasher t'other ; 
Wee Davoc hands the nowte in fother.'' 
I rule them, as I ought, discreetly, 
And aften labour them completely ; 
And aye on Sundays duly, nightly, 
I on the question targe '"^ them tightly, 
Till, faith, wee Davoc's turned sae gleg,'' 
Though scarcely langer than my leg, 
He '11 screed you afF Efl^ectual Calling 
As fast as ony in the dwalling. 
^ A plough-spade. 

• The foremost horse on the left hand in the plough. — Bitrns. 

• The hindiiiost horse on the left hand in the plough. — Burns. 

• Kilmarnock. ■'* Must needs. ^ A trick. 

' The hindmost horse on the light hand in the plough. — Burns. 
8 A colt. " Best. '» Nearly. 

" Plough-driver. '^ Task. '^ So sharp. 



TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. 69 

I 've nane iu female servan' station, 
(Lord, keep me aye frae a' temptation 5) 
I hae nae wife, and that my bliss is, 
And ye hae laid nae tax on misses ; 
And then, if kirk folks dinna touch me, 
I ken the devils darena touch me. 
Wi' weans I 'm mair than weel contented. 
Heaven sent me ane mair than I wanted. 
My sonsie.i smirking, dear-bought Bess, 
She stares the daddy in her face, 
Enough of ought you like but grace ; 
But her, my bonnie sweet wee lady, 
I've paid enough for her already, 
And gin ye tax her or her mither, 
B' the Lord ! ye'se get them a' thegither. 

And now, remember, Mr. Aiken, 

Nae kind of hcense out I 'm takin' ; 

Frae this time forth I do declare, 

I 'se ne'er ride horse nor liizzie mair; 

Thi-ough dirt and dub for life I '11 paidle. 

Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle ; 

My travel a' on foot I '11 sliank it, 

I 've sturdy bearers, Gude be thankit I 

The kirk and you may tak' you that. 

It puts but little in your pat ; 

Sae dinna put me in your bukc, 

Nor for my ten white shillings luka 

This list wi' my ain hand I 've wrote it, 
The day and date as under noted; 
Then know all ye whom it concerns, 
Suhscripsi huic, Robekt Burns. 

Mossgiel, Feh-uary 22, 1786, 



TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. 

ON TUKNDIG ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, IN APEIL, 1786. 

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower, 

Thou's met me in an evil hour ; 

For I maun crush amang the stours^ 

Thy slender stem; 
To spaxe thee now is past my power. 

Thou bonnie gem. 

' Comeiy. ^ Dust, 



n 



CO TO A MO U}^ TAIN DAISY 

Alas ! it's no thy neeljor sweet, 
The bonnie lark, companion meet! 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weot ! 

AVi' spreckled breastj 
When upward-springing, bUthe, to greet, 

The purpling ca.st. 

Canld blew the bitter biting north 
Upon thy early, humble birth. 
Yet cheerfiiUy thou glinted ' forth 

Amid the storm, 
Scarce reared above the parent earth 

Thy tender form. 

The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, 
High shell'.'ring woods and wa's maun shield; 
But thou beneath the random bield^ 
O' clod or stane. 
Adorns the histie^ stibble-field. 

Unseen, alane. 

There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
•Thy snawy bosom sunward spread. 
Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise; 
But now the shai-e uptears thy bed. 

And low thou Ues 1 

Such is the fate of artless maid, 
Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade ! 
By love's simplicity betrayed. 

And guileless trust. 
Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid 

Low i' the dual. 

Such is the fate of simple bard. 

On life's rough ocean luckless starred I 

Unskilful he to note the card 

Of prudent lore, 
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 

And whelm him o'er I 

Such fate to suffering worth is given. 
Who long with wants and woes has strivei.\ 
By human pride or cunning driven 

To misery's brink. 
Till wrenched of every ?<:ay but Heaven, 

He, ruined, sink ! 

Peeped. • 'Shelter. ' Barren. 



a 



TO RUIN. 

Ev'n thou who monrn'st the Dai"" 's fate, 
rhat fate is thine — no distant date ; 
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate, 

Full on thy bloom, 
Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight. 

Shall he thy doom I 



61 



TO RUIN. 

All hail ! inexorable lord ! 

At whose destruction-breathing word 

The mightiest empires fall! 

Thy cruel, woe-delighted train. 

The ministers of grief and pain, 

A sullen welcome, all ! 

"With stern-resolved, despairing eye^ 

I see each aimed dart ; 

For one has cut my dearest tie, 

And quivers in my heart. 

Then lowering and pouring. 
The storm no more I dread ; 

Though thickening, and blackening, 
Round my devoted head. 

And thou grim power, by life ahhorreO, 

While life a pleasure can afford. 

Oh, hear a wretch's j^rayer ! 

No more I shrink appalled, afraid; 

I court, I beg thy friendly aid, 

To close this scene of care ! 

When shall my soul, in silent peace. 

Resign life's joyless day; 

My wear}! heart its throbbing cease. 

Cold mould'ring in the clay ? 

No fear more, no tear more, 
To stain my lifeless face; 

Enclasped, and grasped 
Within thy cold embrace I 



TO MISS LOGAN", 

IHTH BEATTIE's POEMS, AS A NEW YEAR's GIET, JAN. 1, 1787. 

Agatn the silent wheels of time 

Their annual round have driven, 
And you, though scarce in maiden prime, 

Are so much nearer heaven. 



lU" 



1. 



62 TEE LAMENT. 

No gifts have I fi-om Indian coasts 
The infant year to hail ; 

I send you more than India boasts 
In Edwin's simple tale. 

Our sex with guile and faithless love 
Is charged, perhaps too true ; 

But may, dear maid, each lover prove 
An Edwin stiU to you ! 



THE LAMENT. 

OCCASIONED BY THE UNrORTUNATE ISSUE OF A FRIEND's AMOUB. 

[The Lament was composed on that nnfortun-dte passage of his matri. 
moaial history which I have mentioned in my letter to Mrs. Dunlop, after 
the first distraction of liis feelings had a little snbsided. — Gilberi 

£URNS.] 

Alas ! how oft does Goodness wound itself, 

And sweet affection prove the spring of woe ! — Hoiia. 



Tiiou pale orb, that silent shines. 
While care-untroubled mortals sleep ! 

Thou seest a wretch that inly pines, 
And wanders here to wail and weep I 

With woe I nightly vigils keep. 

Beneath thy wan unwarming beam; 

And mourn, in lamentation deep, 
How life and love are all a dream. 

1 joyless view thy rays adorn 

The faintly marked distant hill: 
I joyless view thy trembling horn 

Reflected in the gurgling rill, 
My fondly fluttering heart, be still ! 

Thou busy power. Remembrance, cease 1 
Ah ! must the agonizing thrill 

For ever bar returning peace ! 

No idly feigned pccLic pains, 

My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim ; 
No shepherd's pipe — Arcadian strains ; 

No fabled tortures, quaint and tame : 
The plighted faith ; the mutual flame ; 

The oft attested Powers above ; 
The promised father's tender name; 

These were the pledges of my love I 



Pi- 



THE LAMENT. 68 

Encircled in her clasping arms, 

How have the raptured moments flown I 
How have I wished for fortune's charms. 

For her dear sake, and hers alone 1 
And must I think it ! is she gone, 

My secret heart's exulting boast ? 
And does she heedless hear my groan P 

And is she ever, ever lost ? 

Oh ! can she bear so base a heart, 

So lost to honour, lost to truth, 
As from the fondest lover part. 

The plighted husband of her youth? 
Alas ! hfe's path may be unsmooth ! 

Her way may lie through rough disti*es3 1 
Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe. 

Her sorrows share, and make them less ? 

Ye winged hours that o'er us past, 

Enraptured more, the more enjoyed, 
Your dear remembrance in my breast, 

My fondly treasured thoughts employed. 
That breast, how dreary now, and \ old, 

For her too scanty once of room ! 
Ev'u every ray of hope destroyed. 

And not a wish to gild the gloom ! 

The morn that warns th' approaching day. 

Awakes me up to toil and woe : 
I see the hours in long ai'ray, 

That I must suffer, lingering, slow. 
Full many a pang, and many a throe, 

Keen recollection's direful train. 
Must wring my soul, ere Phoebus, low. 

Shall kiss the distant, western main. 

And when my nightly couch I try. 

Sore harassed out with care and grief. 
My toil-beat nerves, and tear- worn eye. 

Keep watchings with the nightly thief: 
Or, if I slumber. Fancy, chief, 

lieigus haggard- wild, in sore affright : 
Ev'n day, all bitter, brings relief 

From such a horror-breathing night. 

Oh, thou bright queen, who o'er th' expanse 
Now highest reign'st, with boundless swajl 

Oft has thy silent marking glance 

Observed us, fondly wandering, stray I 



□ 



D 



O'^ 



OiV A SCOTCH BARD. 



The time, tinheeclecl, sped away, 

While Love's luxurious pulse beat high, 
Beneatli thy silver gleaming ray, 

To mark the mutual kiiulling eye. 

Oh, scenes in strong remembrance set ! 

Scenes, never, never to return! 
Scenes, if in stupor I forget, 

Again I feel, agam I burn ! 
From every joy and pleasure torn, 

Life's weary vale I 'II wander through} 
And hopeless, comfortless, I '11 mouru 

A faithless woman's broken vow. 



ON A iCOTCH BAKD, 

GONE TO THE WEST INDIES. 

A' YE wha live by soups o' drink, 
A' ye wha live by crambo-clink,' 
A' ye wha live and never think, 

Come mourn wi' m9 1 
Our billie's ^ glen us a' a jink," 

An' owre the sea. 

Lament him a' ye rantin' core,* 
Wha dearly like a random splore,® 
Nae mair he'll join the merry roar 

In social key; 
For now he's ta'en anither shore. 

An' owre the sea. 

The bonnie lasses weel may wiss " him. 
And in their dear petitions i:»]ace him : 
The widows, wives, an' a' may bless him, 

Wi' tearfu' e'e ; 
For weel I wat they'll sairly miss him 

Tliat's owre the sea. 

O Fortune, they hae room to grumble ! 
Hadst thou ta'en afF some drowsy bumbl^ 
Wha can do nought but fyke and fumble, 

'Twad been nae plea; 
But he was gleg^ as ony wumble. 

That's owre the sea. 



' Rhyme^ 
* Party. 
' Sharp. 



' Brother. 
* Fro'ic. 



» The go by. 
« Wishlofc 



a 



ON A SCOTCH BARD. 66 

AtiW, cantie Kyle ' may weepers wear. 
An stain them wi' the sant, saui tear; 
'Twill luak' lier poor auld heart, I fear. 

In flinders'* flee; 
He was her laureate monie a 3'ear, 

That's owre the sea. 

He saw misfortime's canld nor'-west 
Lang mnslering up a hitter hlast; 
A jillet ' hrak his heart at last, 

111 may she be! 
So, took a berth afore the mast, 

And owre the sea. 

To tremble under ^Fortune's cummock,* 
On scar-je a bellyfn' o' drunimock,* 
Wi" his proud, independent stomach 

Could ill agree ; 
So, row't* his hurdies in a hammock, 

And owre the sea. 

He ne'er was gi'en to great misguiding, 
Yet coin his pouches wad na hide in; 
Wi' Lim it ne'er was under hiding; 

He dealt it free : 
The Muse was a' that he took pride in. 

That's owre the sea. 

Jamaica bodies use him weel, 
An' hap^ him in a cozie biel:* 
Ye'll And him aye a dainty cliiel. 

And fou o' glee; 
He wad'na wranged the vera de'il. 

That's owre the sea. 

Fai'eweel, my rhyme-composing billiel 
Your native soil was right ill-wilhe; 
But may ye flourish like a lily, 

Now bonnilie ! 
I'll toast ye in my hind' most gillie,' 

Though owre the sea. 



» Ayrshire. * Ghreds. ^ A jilt. 

* Wand. * ll;i\v meal and water mixed. 

^ Rolled himself. "> Cover him. ' Shelter. 

' Diuiinutive of a gilL 



66 



THE FAREWELL TO THE BRETHREN OF ST. 
JAMES'S LODGE, TARBOLTON. 

Tune — " Good night, and joy be wi' you a' i** 



Adieu ! a heai't-warm, fond adieu ! 

Dear brothers of the mystic tie ! 
Ye favoured, ye enlightened few. 

Companions of my social joy ! 
Though I to foreign lands must hie, 

Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ry ba', 
"With melting heart, and brimful eye, 

I '11 mind you still, though far awa'. 

Oft have I met your social band, 

And spent the cheerful, festive night; 
Oft honoured with supreme command. 

Presided o'er the sons of light : 
And by that hieroglyphic bright, 

Which none but craftsmen ever saw I 
Strong mem'ry on my heart shall write 

Those happy scenes when far awa'. 

May freedom, hai*mony, and love, 

Unite you in the grand design, 
Beneath th' Omniscient Eye above, 

The glorious Architect divine ! 
That you may keep th' unerring line. 

Still rising by the plummet's law, 
Till order bright completely shine, 

Shall be my prayor when far awa'. 

And you ' farewell ! whose merits claim. 

Justly, that highest badge to wear ! 
Heaven bless your honoured, noble namfl^ 

To Masonry and Scotia dear ! 
A last request permit me here, 
When yearly ye assemble a', 
One round, I ask it with a tear, 
To him, the Bard that 's far awa*. 



Sir John Whiteford, the grand master. 



67 



THE TAEEWELL.* 

•* The valiant in himself, ■what can he suffer f 
Or what does he regard his single woes ? 
But wben, alas ! he multiplies himself, 
To dearer selves, to the loved, tender fair. 
To those whose bliss, whose being hang upon him. 
To helpless children ! then, oh, then he feels 
The point of misery festering in his heart. 
And weakly weeps his fortune like a coward. 
Such, such am I ! undone ! " 

Thomson's Edward and JSteanora. 



Farewell old Scotia's bleak domains. 
Far dearer than tlie torrid plains 

Wliere rich ananas blow ! 
Farewell a mothei-'s blessing dear! 
A brother's sigh ! a sister's tear ! 

My Jean's ^ heart-rending throe ! 
Farewell, my Bess ! ^ though thou 'rt bereft 

Of my parental care ! 
A faithful brother I have left, 
My part in him thou 'It share ! 
Adieu too, to you too. 

My Smith, my bosom frien'; 
When kindly you mind me, 
Oh, then befriend my Jean ! 

What bursting anguish tears my heaiiil 
From thee, my Jeanie, must I part! 
Thou, weeping, answerest, " No !" 
Alas ! misfortune stares my face. 
And points to ruin and disgrace, 

I for thy sake must go ! 
Thee. Hamilton and Aiken dear, 

A grateful, warm a,dieu ! 

I, with a much indebted tear. 

Shall still remember you ! 

All hail then, the gale then, 

Wafts me from thee, dear shore f 
It rustles and whistles — 
I '11 never see thee more ! 

Written when the Poet designed to leave Scotland for the West Indie* 
• Jean Armour. ' His illegitimate child. 



= ? 



68 



FAREWELL TO AYRSHIRE. 

Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, 
Scenes that former thonghls renew, 

Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, 
Now a sad and last adieu ! 

Bonny Doon, sae sweet and gloauiin', 
Fare thee weel before I gang ! 

Bonny Doon, whare early roaming, 
First I weaved the rustic sang ! 

Bowers, adieu, whare Love, decoying, 
First inthralled this heart o' mine, 

There the saltest sweets enjoying — ■ 
Sweets that Mem'ry ne'er shall tynel 

Friends, so near my bosom ever, 
Ye hae rendered moments dear; 

But, alas ! when forced to sever. 
Then the stroke, oh, how severe ! 

Friends, that parting tear reserve it, 

Though 'ti.s doubly dear to me! 
Could I think I did deserve it, 
How much hajapier would I be ! 

Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, 
Scenes that former thoughts renew. 

Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, 
Now a sad and last adieu ! 



LINES WRITTEN ON A BANK-NOTE. 

[The bank-note on tlie back of wiiicli tliese cliaracteristic lines were 
written, is of the Bank of Scotland, and dated so far back as March 1, 
1780.] 

Wae worth thy power, thoxi cursed leaf! 

Fell source o' a' my woe and grief! 

For lack o' thee I 've lost my lass ! 

For lack o' thee I scrimp my glass ! 

I see the children of affliction 

Unaided, through thy cursed restriction. 

I 've seen th' oppressor's cruel smile, 

Amid his hapless victim's spoil, 

And, for thy potence vainly wished 

To crush the villain in the dust. 

For lack o" thee, 1 leave this much-loved shore. 

Never, pei'haps, to greet auld Scotland more 1 






VEESES TO AK" OLD SWEETHEAET AFTER HER 
MARRIAGE. 

WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A COPY OF HIS POEMS PRESENTED 
TO THE LADY. 

Once fondly loved, and still remembered dear I 
Sweet early oljject of iny youtlil'ul vov.'s ! 

Accept this mnrk of friendship, warm, sincere,^ 
Friendsliip ! 'tis all cold duty now allows. 

And when you read tlie simi^le, artless rhymes, 
One friendly sigh for him — he asks no more— 

Who distant burns in flaming torrid climes, 
Or haply lies beneath th' Atlantic's roar. 



VERSES WRITTEN UNDER VIOLENT GRIEF. 

[The following lines, which first appeared in the Svji newspaper, April, 
18"23, appear to liaye been originally written on a leaf of a copy of his 
poems presented to a friend.] 

Accept the gift a friend sincere 

Wad on thy worth be j)ressin'; 
Remembrance oft may start a tear. 
But oh ! that tenderness i'orbear, 
Though 'twad my sorrov/s lessen. 

My morning raise sae clear and fair, 
I thought sair storms wad never 

Bedew the scene ; but gric! and car© 

In wildest fury hae made bare 
My peace, my hope for ever ! 

Ton think I 'm glad ; oh, I pay weel 

For a' the joy 1 Ijorrow, 
In solitude — then, then I feel 
I canna to myself conceal 

My deeply ranklin' sorrow. 

Farewell ! within thy bosom free 

A sigh may whiles awaken; 
A tear may wet thy laughin' e'e, 
For Scotia's son— ance gay like thee. 

Now hopeless, comfortless, forsaken 1 



^^ 



70 

DESPONDENCY. 

AN ODE. 

OppnESSED with grief, oppressed with carOj^ 
A burden more than I can bear, 

I sit me down and sigh : 
O hfe ! thou ai-t a galling load, 
Along a rough, a weary road, 

To wretches such as I ! 
Dim backward as I cast my view, 
What sickening scenes appear ! 
What sorrows yet may pierce me through. 
Too justly I may fear ! 

Still caring, despairing, 

Must be my bitter doom ; 
My woes here shall close ne'er, 
Bnt with the closing tomb I 

Happy, ye sons of busy life, 
Who, equal to the bustling strife, 

No other view regard ! 
Even when the wished end's denied. 
Yet while the busy means are plyed, 

They bring their own reward : 
Whilst I, a hope-abandoned wight, 

Unfitted with an aim. 
Meet every sad returning night 
And joyless morn the same ; 
You, bustling and justling, 

Forget each grief and pain; 
I, listless, yet restless, 

Find every prospect vara. 

How blest the Solitary's lot. 
Who, all- forgetting, all-forgot. 

Within the humble cell. 
The cavern wild with tangling roots. 
Sits o'er his newly-gathered fruits, 

Beside his crystal well ! 
Or, haply, to his evening thought. 

By unfrequented stream, 
The ways of men are distant brought, 
A faint collected dream ; 

While j^raising, and raising 

His thoughts to heaven on hig)^ 
As wandering, meandering, 
He views the solemn sky. 




DESPONDENCY. 



Oppressed with grief, oppressed with care, 
A burden more than I can bear, 
I sit me down and sijjh. — p. -jo. 



Wm-rER. 71 

Than 1, 110 lonely hermit placed 
Where never human footstep traced. 

Less fit to play the part, 
The lucky moment to improve. 
And just to stop, and just to move. 

With self-respecting art : 
But ah ! those pleasures, loves, and joyflij 

Which I too keenly taste, 
The Solitary can despise. 
Can want, and yet be blest ! 
He needs not, he heeds not. 

Or human love or hate, 
Whilst I here must cry here, 
At perfidy ingrate ! 

Oh ! enviable, early days, 

When dancing, thoughtless. Pleasure's mazd^ 

To care, to guilt unknown ! 
How ill exchanged for riper times. 
To feel the follies, or the crimes. 

Of others, or my own ! 
Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, 

Like linnets in the bush, 
Ye little know the ills ye court. 
When manhood is your wish; 
The losses, the crosses, 

That active man engage ! 
The fears all, the tears all. 
Of dim-declining age 1 



WINTER 

A DIRGE- 

The wintry west extends his blast. 

And hail and rain does bUw ; 
Or, the stormy north sends driving fori^. 

The blincfing sleet and snaw: 
While, tumbling brown, the burn comes do\7n# 

And roars frae bank to brae ; 
And l^ird and beast in covert rest. 

And pass the heartless day. 

'The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,"^. 

The joyless winter day. 
Let others fear, to me more dear 
Thau all the pride of May : 

^ Dr. Young. 



u 



r" " 



72 THE BRIGS OF A YR. 

The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul. 

My griefs it seems to join ; 
The leafless trees my fancy please. 
Their fate resembles mine ! 

Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme 

These woes of mine fulfil, 
Here, firm, I rest, they must be best. 

Because they are Thy "Will ! 
Then all I want (O, do Thou grant 

This one request of mine !) 
Since to enjoy Thou dost deny. 

Assist me to resign ! 



THE BRIGS OF AYR. 

[Inscribed to Jobk Ballantyne, Esq., Ayr.] 

The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough. 

Learning his tuneful ti-ade from every bough; 

The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush, 

Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn-bush; 

The soaring lark, the perching redbreast shrill. 

Or deep- toned plovers, grey, wild-whistling o'er the hill; 

Shall he, nurst in the peasant's lowly shed, 

To hardy independence bravely bred. 

By early Poverty to hardship steeled. 

And trained to arms in stern Misfortune's field. 

Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimes, 

The servile, mercenaiy Swiss of rhymes? 

Or labour hard the panegyric cTose, 

"With all the venal soul of dedicating prose P 

No ! though his artless strains he rudely sings. 

And throws his hand uncouthly o'er the strings. 

He glows with all the spirit of the Bard, 

Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward. 

Still, if some patron's generous care he trace. 

Skilled in the secret, to bestow with grace ; 

When Ballantyne befriends his humble name. 

And hands the rustic stranger up to fame, 

With heartfelt throes his grateful bosom swells, 

The God-like bliss, to give, alone excels. 

. . • . • 

Twas when the stacks get on their winter hap,' 
And thack * and rape secure the toil- won crap ; 

1 Covering. ' Thatch. 



THE BRIGS OF A YR. 73 

Potato-bings ' are sniisrared up fra skaith' 

Of coming Winter's biting, frosty breath; 

The bees, i-cjoicing o'er their summer toils. 

Unnumbered buds and flowers, dehcious spoils, 

Sealed up with frugal care in massive waxen piles. 

Are doomed by man, that tyrant o'er the weak. 

The death o' devils smoored ^ wi' brimstone reek : 

The thundering guns are heard on every side. 

The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide; 

The feathei-ed field-mates, bound by Nature's tiQ, 

Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie : 

(What warm, poetic heart, but inly bleeds. 

And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds!) 

Nae mair the flower in field or meadow springsj 

Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings. 

Except perhaps the Robin's whistling glee, 

Proud o' the height o' some bit half-lang tree: 

The hoary morns precede the sunny days, 

Mild, calm, serene, wide spreads the noontide blaze. 

While thick the gossamour waves wanton in the rajib 

'Twas in that season, when a simple Bard, 

Unknown and poor — snnplicity's reward — 

Ae night, within the ancient brugh of Ayr, 

By whim insjjired, or haply prest with care ; 

He left his bed, and took his wayward route. 

And down by Simpson's* wheeled the left aboutt 

(Whether impelled by all-directing Fate, 

To witness what I after shall narrate ; 

Or whether, rajat in meditation high, 

He wandered out he knew not where nor why) 

The drowsy Dungeon-clock* had numbered two. 

And Wallace Tower* had sworn the fact was true : 

The tide-swoln Firth, with sullen sounding roar, 

Thi'ough the still night dashed hoarse along the shores 

All else was hushed as Nature's closed e'e ; 

The silent moon shone high o'er tower and tree; 

The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam. 

Crept, gently crusting o'er the glittering stream. 

When lo ! on either hand the list'ning Bard, 
The clanging sugh of whistling wings is heard; 
Two dusky forms dart through the midnight air. 
Swift as the Gos * drives on the wheeling hare ; 
Ane on th' Auld Brig his airy shape nprears. 
The ither flutters o'er the rising piers : 

' Heaps. * Harm. ^ gmottered. 

* A noted tavern at the Auli Brig end. • The two st;«plea. 

• The gos-hawk, or falcon. 



74 THE BRIGS OF A YR. 

Our warlock Rhymer instantly descried 

The sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside. 

(That bards are second-sighted is nae joke. 

And ken the lingo ot the spiritual folk ; 

Fays, spnnkies, kelpies, a', they can explain thenij 

And ev'n the very de'ils they brawly keu them.) 

Auld Brig appeared of ancient Pictish race, 

The very wrinkles Gothic in his face : 

He seemed as he wi' Time had warstled lang. 

Yet teughly donre, he bade an unco bang.* 

New Brig was buskit in a braw nesv coat, 

That he at Lon'on, frae ane Adains, got; 

In 's hand five taper staves as smooth's a bead, 

"With virls "■^ and whirlygigums at the lead. 

The Goth was stalking round with anxious searchj 

Spying the time-worn Haws in every arch ; 

It chanced his new-come neebor took his e'e. 

And e'en a vexed and angry heart had he ! 

Wi' thieveless' sneer to see his modish inian, 

He, down the Avater, gies him this guideen : — 

AULD BRIG. 

I doubt na,' frien,' ye 'II think ye 're nae sheepshant,* 
Ance ye, were streeldt* o'er frae bank to bank ! 
But gin ye be a brig as auld as me — 
Though faith that day I doubt ye '11 never see ; 
There '11 be, if that date come, I '11 wad a boddle,*" 
Some fewer whigmeleories in your noddle. 

NEW BRIG. 

Anld Vandal, ye but show your little mense,' 
Just much about it wi' your scanty sense; 
Will your poor, narrow footpatli of a street. 
Where twa wheelbarrows tremble when they meet, 
Your ruined, formless bulk, o' stane an' lime, 
Compare wi' bonnie brigs o' modern time ? 
There 's men o' taste would tak' the Ducat stream,' 
Though they should caste the very sark and swim, 
Ere they would grate their feelings wi' the view 
Of sic an ugly, Gothic hulk as you. 

AULD BRIG. 

Conceited gowk ! ® puffed up wi' windy pride ; 
This mony a year I 've stood the flood and tide; 

' Toughly obdurate, lie bore a mighty blow. 

• A ring round a column. ' Spiteful. 

• No woi-thless tiling. •'' Stretched. ^ Bet a doit. 

' MMnners. * A noted ford, just above the Auld Brig. 

• FooL 



1 



THE BRIOS OF AYR. 7» 

And thongli -wi' crazy eild I 'm sair forfairn, 

I '11 be a brig when ye 're a shapeless cairn ! 

Ar yet ye little ken about the matter, 

But twa-three winters will inform ye better. 

When heavy, dark, continued, a'-day rains, 

Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains ; 

When from the hills where springs the brawling Coil, 

Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil, 

Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course. 

Or haunted Garpal' draws his feeble source, 

Ai'ou^ed by blustering winds an' spotting thowes, 

In mony a torrent down his sna-broo rowes; 

While crashing ice, borne on the roaring speat,* 

Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate ; 

And from Glenbuck,^ down to the Ratton-key,* 

Auld Ayr is just one lengthened, tumbling sea ; 

Then down ye '11 hurl, de'il nor ye never i-ise ! 

And dash the gumlie jaups^ up to the pouring skies^ 

A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost, 

That Architecture's noble art is lost ! 

NEW BRIG. 

^ Fine architectui-e, trowth, I needs must say't o't I 
The Lord be thankit that we've tint® the gate o't I 
Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices, 
Hanging with threatening jut, like jDrecipices; 
O'er-arching, mouldy gloom-inspiring coves, 
Supporting roofs fantastic, stony groves : 
Windows and doors, in nameless sculpture drest* 
With order, symmetry, or taste unblest ; 
Forms like some bedlam statuary's dream. 
The crazed croations of misguided whim ; 
Forms might be worshipjDed on the bended knee, 
And still the second dread command be free. 
Their likeness is not found on earth, in air, or sea. 
Mansions that would disgrace the building taste 
Of any mason, re23tile, bird, or beast; 
Fit only for a doited monkish race. 
Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace. 
Or cuifs '^ of latter times, wha held the notion 
That sullen gloom was sterling true devotion; 
Fancies that our guid brugh denies protection, — 
And soon may they expire, unblest with resurrection ! 
' The banks of Garpal Water — one of the few places in the west ol 
Scotland where those fancy-scaring beings, known by the name of 
ghaists, still continue pertinaciously to inhabit. — Burns. 

* Flood. ^ The source of the River Ayr. 

' A small landing-place above the large quay. * Muddy spray. 

• Lost. 7 Fools. 



76 THE BRIO,S OF AYR. 

AULD BEIG 

ye, my dear- remembered, ancient yealings,* 
Were ye but here to share my wounded feeliuga! 
Ye worthy Proveses, an' mony a BaiHe, 

Wha in the paths o' righteousness did toil aye ; 

Ye dainty Deacons, an' ye douce Conveeners, 

To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners ; 

Ye godly coiincils wha hae blest this town ; 

Ye godly bi'ethren of the sacred gown, 

Wha meekly gie your hurdies to the smiters ; 

And (what would now be strange) ye godly writers: 

A' ye douce folk I've borne aboon the broo,^ 

Were ye but here, what would ye say or do ! 

How would your spirits gi'oan in deep vexation, 

To see each melancholy alteration ; 

And agonizing, curse the time and place 

When ye begat the base, degen'rate race ! 

Nae langer reverend men, their country's glory, 

In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid story 1 

Nae langer thrifty citizens, and douce, 

Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house ; 

But staumrel,^ corky-headed, graceless gentry, , 

The herryment and ruin of the country ; 

Men, three parts made by tailors and by barbers, 

Wha waste your weel-hained gear on d d new brigs and 

harbours ! 

NEW BRIG. 

ITow baud yon there ! for faith ye've said enou.-H; 
And muckle mair than ye can mak' to through : 
As for 3'our priesthood, I shall say but little. 
Corbies and clergy are a shot right kittle : 
But, under favour o' your langer beard, 
Abuse o' magistrates might weel be spared: 
To liken them to your aiild-warld squad, 

1 must needs say, comparisons are odd. 

In Ayr, wag- wits nae mair can hae a handle 

To mouth " a citizen," a term o' scandal : 

Nae mair the council waddles down the street. 

In all the pomp of ignorant conceit ; 

Men wha grew wise priggin' owre hops an' raisins. 

Or gathered liberal views in bonds and seisins. 

If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp, 

Had shored them with a glimmer of his lamp. 

And would to Common-sense, for once betrayed them, 

Plaiu. dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them. 

Contemporaries. " Above the water. * Half-witted. 



THE BRIGS OF AYR. 77 

"What farther clishmaclaver ' might been said. 

What bloody wars, it' sj^rites had blood to shed, 

No man can tell; but all before their sight 

A fairy train apj^eared, in order bright : 

Adown the glittering stream they featly danced; 

Bright to the moon their various dresses glanced: 

They footed o'er the watery glass so neat. 

The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet : 

While arts of minstrelsy among them rung, \ 

And soul-ennobling bards heroic ditties sune^. 

Oh, had M'Lauchlan,'^ thairm^-inspiring sage, 

Been there to hear this heavenly band engage, 

When thi'ough his dear Strathspeys they bore with High* 

land rage ; 
Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs. 
The lover's raptured joys or bleeding cares ; 
How would his Highland lug been nobler tired, 
And ev'n his matchless hand with finer touch inspired I 
No guess could tell what instrument appeared, 
But all the soul of Music's self was heard; 
Harmonious concert rung in every part, 
While simple melody poured moving on the heart. 

The Genius of the Stream in front appears, 

A venerable chief advanced in years ; 

His hoary head with water-lilies crowned, 

His manly leg with garter tangle bound. 

Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring, 

Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand with Spring; 

Then, crowned with flowery hay, came Rural Joy, 

And Summer, with his fervid beaming eye : 

All- cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn. 

Led yellow Autumn wreathed with nodding corn; 

Then Winter's time-bleached locks did hoary show, 

3y Hospitality with cloudless brow. 

Next followed Courage * with his martial stride, 

From where the Feal ^ wild woody coverts hide ; 

Benevolence, with mild benignant air, 

A female form,® came from the towers of Stair : 



' Nonsense, idle gossip. 

' A well-known performer of Scottish music on the violin, 

^ Fiddle-string. '' Capt. Hugh Montgomery, of Coils-field. 

* A tributary stream of the Ayr. 

^ The Poet alludes here to Mrs. Stewart, of Stair. Stair was then in 
her possession. She afterwards removed to Afton Lodge, on the hanks of 
the Afton, a stream which he afterward.^ celebrated in a song entitled 
"Afton Water." 



78 ON MEETING WITH LORD DAER. 

Learning and Woi'th • in equal measures trode 

From simple Catrine, their long-loved abode : 

Last, white-robed Peace, crowned with a hazel wreath, 

To rustic Agriculture did bequeath 

The broken iron instruments of death ; 

At sight of whom our sprites forgat their kindling wrath. 



LINES ON MEETING WITH LORD DAER. 

This wot ye all whom it concerns, 
I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, 

October twenty-third, 
A ne'er-to-be-forgotten day ! 
Sae far I sprachled^ up the brae, 

I dinnered wi' a lord. 

I 've been at drucken writers' feasts, 
Nay, been, bitch fou 'mang godly priests ; 

(Wi' reverence be it spoken ! ) 
I 've even joined the honoured jorum 
When mighty squireships o" the quorum 

Their hydra drouth did sloken. 

But wi' a lord ! — stand out, my shin : 
A lord — a peer — an earl's son ! — 

Up higher yet, my bonnet 1 
And sic a lord ! — lang Scotch ells twa, 
Our peerage he o'erlooks them a'. 

As I look o'er my sonnet. 

But, oh ! for Hogarth's magic power ! 
To show Sir Bardie's willyart glower,^ 

And how he stared and stammered ! 
When goavan,* as if led wi' branks,^ 
And stumpin' on his ploughman shanks. 

He in the parlour hammered. 

To meet good Stewart little pain is, 
Or Scotia's sacred Demosthenes ; 

Thinks I, they are but men ! 
But Burns, my lord — guid God ! I doited ! * 
My knees on ane anitlier knoited,' 

As faultering I gaed ben ! ^ 

• Professor Dugald Stewart. * Clambered. 

• Bewildered stave. •* Moving stupidly. * Bridle. 

' Became stupefied. ' Knocked. * Into the room. 



ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. 79 

I sidling sheltered in a nook, 
And at his lordship steal't a look, 

Like some portentous omen; 
Except good sense and social glee, 
And (what surprised me) modesty, 

I marked nought uncommon. 

I -watched the symptoms o' the great. 
The gentle pride, the lordly state. 

The arrogant assuming ; 
The fient a pride, nae pride had he, 
Nor sauce, nor state, that I could see, 

Mair than an honest ploughman, 

Then from his lordship I shall learn 
Henceforth to meet with unconcern 

One rank as weel 's another; 
ITae honest, worthy man need care, 
To meet wi' noble, youthful Daer. 

For he but meets a brother. 



ADDRESS TO EDmBUEGH. 

Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 

All hail tiiy palaces and towers, 
Whare once beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat Legislation's sovereign powers ! 
From marking wildly-scattered flowers. 

As on the banKS of Ayr I strayed, 
And singing, lone, the lingering hours, 

I shelter in thy honoured shade. 

Here wealth still swells the golden tide. 

As busy Trade his labour plies ; 
There Architecture's noble pride 

Bids elegance and splendour rise ! 
Here Justice, from her native skies, 

High wields her balance and her rod: 
There Learning, with his eagle eyes. 

Seeks Science in her coy abode. 

Thy sons, Edina ! social, kind. 

With open arms the stranger hail; 
Their views enlarged, their liberal mind. 

Above the narrow, rural vale ; 
Attentive still to Sorrow's wail, 

Or modest Merit's silent claim ; 
And never may their sources fail ! 

And never envy blot their name 1 



.r 



8U ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. 

Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn. 

Gay as the gilded summer sky, 
Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn, 

Dear as the raptured thrill of joy ! 
Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye, 

Heaven's beauties on my fancy shine ; 
I see the Sire of Love on high, 

And own His work indeed divine. 

There, watching high the least alarms. 

Thy rough, rude fortress gleams afar; 
Like some bold veteran, grey in arms, 

And marked with many a seamy scar : 
The ponderous wall and massy bai', 

Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock, 
Have oft withstood assailing war. 

And oft repelled th' invader's shock. 

With awe-struck thought, and pitying teara^ 

I view that noble, stately dome, 
Where Scotia's kings of other years. 

Famed heroes ! had their royal home : 
Alas, how changed the times to come ! 

Their royal name low in the dust ! 
Their hapless race wild wandering roam 1 

Though rigid law cries out, 'Twas just. 

Wild beats my heart to trace your steps. 

Whose ancestors, in days of yore. 
Through hostile ranks and ruined gaps 

Old Scotia's bloody lion bore : 
Even I who sing in rustic lore. 

Haply, my sires have left their shed, 
And faced grim Danger's loudest roar. 

Bold- following where your fathers ledl 

Edina ! Scotia's darling seat ! 

All hail thy palaces and towers. 
Where once beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat Legislation's sovereign powers ! 
From marking wildly-scattered flowers. 

As on the banks of Ayr I strayed. 
And singing, lone, the hngering hours, 

I shelter in thy honoured shade. 



r 



81 



TO THE MEMORY OF PRINCE CHARLES EDWARD 

STUART, 

False flatterer, Hope, away ! 
Nor think to lure us as in days of yore ; 

We solemnize this sorrowing natal day 
To prove our loyal truth ; -we can no more ; 

And owning Heaven's mysterious sway^ 
Submissive low adore. 

Ye honoured mighty dead ! 
Wlio nobly perished in the glorious cause, 
Your king, your country, and her laws ! 

From great Dundee, who smiling Victory led. 
And i'ell a martja- in her arms * 
(AVhat breast of northern ice hut warms ?) 

To bold Bahnerind's i;ndying name. 
Whose soul of lire, lighted at heaven's higli fiawie, 
Deserves the proudest wreath departed heroes claim. 

Nor unavenged your fate shall be, 

It only lags the fatal hour ; 
Your blood shall with incessant cry 

Awake at last th' unsparing power ; 
As from the cUff, with thundering course, 

The snowy ruin smokes along, 
With doubling sjjeed and gathering force, 
Till deep it crashing whelms the cottage in the vale I 

So vengeance . . . . • 



TO A HAGGIS.' 

Fate fa' your honest, sonsie^ face. 
Great chieftain o' the puddin' race ! 
Aboon them a' ye tak' your place, 

Paiuch, trijDe, or thairm: 
Weel are ye wordy of a grace 

As laug 's my arm. 

' At the battle of Killiecrankie. 

* The IlKggis is a dish pecxiliar to Scotland. It is made of minced 
offivl cf raatton, meal, suet, and staioning, tied tightly up in a sheep's 
stomach and boiled in it. 

■* Jolly. * Small intestines 



I 



t- 



82 TO A HAGGIS. 

The groLimng trencher thei'e j'^e fill. 
Your hnrdies hke a distant hill, 
Your pin ' wad lielp to mend a mill 

In time o' need, 
While through your pores the dews distil 

Like amber bead. 

His knife see rustic Labour dight,' 
An' cut you up wi' ready slight, 
Trenching your gushing entrails bright, 

Like onie ditch ; 
And then, oh, what a glorious sight, 

Warm-reekin', rich ! 

Then horn for horn they stretch an' stiira^ 
De'il tak' the hindmost ! on they drive, 
Till a' their weel swalled kytes''' belyve* 

Are bent like drums : 
Then auld guidman, maist like to ryve,' 

Bethankit hums. 

Is there that o'er his French ragout, 
Or olio that wad staw a sow, 
Or fricassee wad niak' her spew 

Wi' perfect sconner,® 
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view 

On sic a dinner ? 

Poor devil ! see him owre his trash. 
As feckless ^ as a withered rash," 
His spindle-shank a guid whii)-lash. 

His nieve ^ a nit ; 
Through bloody flood or field to dash. 

Oh, how unfit ! 

But mark the rustic, haggis-fed, 

The trembling earth resounds his tread. 

Clap in his walie nieve ^^ a bhide, 

He '11 mak' it whissle ; 
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned," 

Like taps o' thristle.'* 

Ye Powers, wha mak' mankind your care^ 
And dish them out their bill o' fare, 

' Skewer. * Vfipe. ' Stomachs. 

* By and by. * Burst. * Loathing. 

» Pithless. « Eush. » Fist. 

" Large fist. " Cut o£ " Tops of thistlea 



=ilL 



PROLOGUE. 

Auld Scotland wants nae stinking ware ' 
Tliat jaups in luggies;" 

But, if ye wish her gratei'u' prayer, 
Gi'e her a Haggis ! 



PEOLOGUE. 

gPOKEN BY MR. "WOODS ^ ON HIS BENEFIT NIGHT, MONDA-T, 
APKIL 16, 1787. 

When by a generous puhhc'a kind acclaim, 
That dearest meed is granted — honest fame : 
When here your favour is the actor's lot, 
ITor even the man in j^rivate life forgot ; 
What breast so dead to heavenly virtue's glow. 
But heaves impassioned with the grateful throe P 

Poor is the task to please a barbai'ous throng. 
It needs no Siddons' powers in Southern's soug; 
Bat here an ancient nation famed afar 
For genius, learning high, as great in war — 
Hail, Caledonia ! name for ever dear ! 
Before whose sons I'm honoured to appear! 
Where every science — every nobler art — 
That can inform the mind, or mend the heart, 
Is known ; as grateful nations oft have found, 
Par as the rude barltarian marks the bound- 
Philosophy, no idle pedant dream, 

Here hi .Ids her search by heaven-taught Eeason's beaini 
Here History paints with elegance and force, 
The tide of Empires" fluctuating course; 
Here Douglas forms wild Shakespeare into plan, 
And Harley * rouses all the god in man. 
When well-formed taste and sparkling wit unite 
With manly lore, or i'emale beauty bright, 
(Beauty, where faultless symmetry and grace, 
Can only charm us in the second place,) 
Witness, my licart, how oft with panting fear. 
As on this night, I 'vc met these judges here ! 
But still the hope Experier.ce taught to live. 
Equal to jadge — you 're candid to forgive. 
No hundred-headed Riot here we meet. 
With decency and law beneath his feet ; 
Nor Insolence assumes f;iir Freedom's name : 
Like Caledonians, you applaud or blame. 

• Til in stuff. - That splashes in bowl* 

* A tavouiite actor in Edinbuigli. 

Henry IVIackenzie, author of "The Alan of Feeling." 



n 



n 



r 



84 NATURE'S LAW. 

O Thou dread Power ! whose empire-giving hand 

Has oft been stretched to shield the honoured land. 

Strong may she glov?- with all her ancient fire 1 

May every son be worthy of his sire ; 

Firm may she rise with generous disdain 

At Tyranny's, or dii-er Pleasure's, chain; 

Still self-dependent in her native shore. 

Bold may she brave grim Danger's loudest roar, 

Till Fate the curtain drops on worlds to be no more! 



ITATURE'S LAW. 

HrmBLT INSCKIBED TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. 
*' Great Nature spoke — observant man obeyed.' — PoPB. 

Let other heroes boast their scars, 

The marks of sturt and strife; 
And other poets sing of wars, 

The plagues of human life : 
Shame fa' the fun, wi' sword and gun. 

To slap mankind like lumber ! 
I sing liis name and nobler fame, 

"VVha multiplies our number. 

Great Nature spoke, with air benign, 

" Go on, ye human race ! 
This lower world I you resign : 

Be fruitful and increase. 
The liquid fire of strong desire, 

I 've poured it in each bosom ; 
Here, in this hand, does mankind stand, 

And there is beauty's blossom ! " 

The hero of these artless strains, 

A lowly bard was he. 
Who sang his rhymes in Coila's plains, 

With raickle mirth and glee; 
Kind Nature's care had given his share 

Large of the flaming current; 
And all devout, he never sought 

To stem the sacred toi;rent. 

He felt the powerful high behest 

Thrill, vital, through and through; 
And sought a corresjjondeut breast 

To give obedience due: 
Propitious Powers screened the young flowera 

From mildews of abortion ! 
And lo! the Bard, a great rewaid. 

Has got a double portion I 



J 



VEB^ES ON TEE DEATH OF J. M'LEOD. . 86 

Auld cautie Coil may count the day. 

As annual it returns, 
The third of Libra's equal sway, 

That gave another Burns, 
With future rhymes and other times* 

To emulate his sire ; 
To sing auld Coil in nobler style. 

With more poetic fire. 

Ye powers of peace, and peaceful song. 

Look down with gracious eyes ; 
And bless auld Coila, large and long. 

With multiplying joys : 
Lang may she stand to prop the land. 

The flower of ancient nations; 
And Burnses spring, her fame to sing. 

To endless generations ! 



VEESES 

ON REJLDING IN A NEWSPAPEU THE DEATH OF JOHN M'LEOD, ESQ., 

brotiiee, to a young lady, a particular frien.t) of thb 
author's. 

Sad thy tale, thou idle page, 

And rueful thy alarms : 
Death teare the brother of her lova 

From Isa<bella's arms. 

Sweetly deckt with pearly dew 

The morning rose may blow; 
But cold successive noontide blasts 

May lay its beauties low. 

Fair on Isabella's morn 

The sun propitious smiled ; 
But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds 

Succeeding hopes beguiled. 

Fate oft tears the bosom chords 

That nature finest strung ; 
So Isabella's heart was formed, 

And so that heart was wrung. 

Were it in the Poet's power, 

Strong as he shares the grief 
That joierces Isabella's heart. 
To give that heart relief I 



c 



86 ELEQY ON THE DEATH OF SIR J. H BLAIR, 

Dread Omnipotence alone 

Can heal the wonnd He gave ; 
Can point the brimful grief-worn eyes 

To scenes beyond the grave. 

Virtue's blossoms there shall blow. 

And fear no withering blast ; 
There Isabella's spotless worth 

Shall happy be at last. 



ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF SIR JAMES HUNTER 
BLAIR.' 

A PAUTNEK IN TIIE EMINENT BANKING HOUSE OF SIR WILLIAK 
FOKBES AND CO., OF EDINBURGH. 

The lamp of day, Avith ill-presaging glare, 
Dim, cloudy, sank beneath the western wave ; 

Th' inconstant blast howled through the darkening air. 
And hollow whistled in the rocky cave. 

Lone as I wandered by each cliff and dell. 

Once the loved haunts of Scotia's royal i rain ; ' 
Or mused where limpid streams, once hallowed, well, 

Or mouldering ruins mark the sacred fane. 

Th' increasing blast roared round the beetling rocks. 
The clouds, swift-winged, flew o'er the stai-ry sky, 

The groaning trees untimely shed their locks. 
And shooting meteors caught the startled eye. 

The paly moon rose in the livid east. 

And 'mong the cliffs disclosed a stately form, 

In weeds of woe, that frantic beat her breast. 
And mixed her wailings with the raving storm. 

Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow ; 

'Twas Caledonia's trophied shield I viewed : 
Her form majestic drooped in pensive woe, 

The lightning of her eye in tears imbued. 

Reversed that spear, redoubtable in war. 
Reclined that banner, erst in fields unfurled, 

That like a deathful meteor gleamed afar. 

And braved the mighty monarchs of the world, 

* A banker of Edinburgh. '' Tbe King's park at Holyrood House. 



't^ 



J 



TO MISS FERRTER. 87 

"My patriot son fills an untimely grave J " 

With accents wild and lifted arms slie cried; 
•' Low lies the hand that ort was stretched to save, 
Low lies the heart that swelled with honest pride. 

•*A weeping country joins a widow's tear; 

The helpless poor mix with the orphan's cry ; 
The drooping Arts surround their patron's bier, 
And grateful Science heaves the heartfelt sigh \ 

**I saw my sons resume their ancient fire; 

I saw fair Freedom's blossoms richly blow : 
But ah ! how hope is born but to expire ! 
Relentless Fate has laid their guardian low. 

*' My patriot falls, — but shall he lie unsung. 

While emj)ty greatness saves a worthless name P 
]No ; every Muse shall join her tuneful tongue. 
And future ages hear his growing fame. 

•* And I will join a mother's tender cares. 

Through future times to make his virtues list; 

That distant years may boast of other Blairs ! " — 

She said, and vanished with the sleeping blast. 



TO MISS FERRIER,' 

ENCLOSING THE ELEGY ON SIE, J. II. BLAIR, 

Nae heathen name shall I prefix 

Frae Pindus or Parnassus ; 
Auld Reekie dings '^ them a' to sticks, 

For rhyme-inspiring lasses. 

Jove's tunefu' dochters three times three 
Made Homer deep their debtor ; 

But, gi'en the body half an e'e, 
Nine Ferriers wad done better I 

Last day my mind was in a l)og, 
Down George's Street I stoited;* 

A creeping, cauld, prosaic fog 
My very senses doited* 

' This lady was the author of the "Inheritance. Marriage, and Des 
tiny." 

^ Beats '■ Tottered. ■* Stupetied. 



88 LINES WRITTEN OVER A CHIMNEY-PIECE. 

Do what I donght ' to set her free. 

My saul lay in the mire ; 
Ye turned a neuk * — I saw your e'e — 

She took the wing hke fire ! 

The mournfu' sang I here enclose, 

In gratitude I send you ; 
And wish and pi'ay, in rhyme sincere, 

A' guid things may attend yon. 



LINES 

•WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL OVER THE CHIMNEY-PIECE IN THB 
PAHLOUK OF THE INN AT KENMORE, TAYMOUTH. 

Admiring Nature in her wildest grace, 

Tliese northern scenes with weary feet I trace ; 

O'er many a winding dale and painful steep, 

The abodes of coveyed grouse and timid sheep, 

My sava.ge journey, cui'ious, I pursue. 

Till famed Breadalbaiie opens to my view, — 

The meeting clifts each deep- sunk glen divides. 

The woods, wild- scattered, clothe their ample sides; 

The outstretching lake, embosomed 'mong the hills, 

The eye with wonder and amazement fills : 

The Tay, meandering sweet in infaiit pride. 

The palace, rising on its verdant side ; 

The lawns, wood-fi'inged in Nature's native taste; 

The hillocks, dropt in Nature's careless haste ; 

The arches, striding o'er the new-born stream ; 

The village, glittering in the noontide beam — 

Poetic ardours in mj bosom swell. 

Lone wandering by the hermit's mossy cell : 

The sweeping theatre of hanging woods ! 

The incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods . 



Here Poesy might wake her heaven-taught lyre, 

And look through Nature with creative fire ; 

Here, to the wrongs of Pate half reconciled, 

Misfortune's lightened steps might wander wild ; 

And Disappointment, in these lonely Dounds, 

Find balm to soothe her bitter, I'ankling wounds; 

Here heart-struck Grief might heavenward sti'etch hei 

scan, 
And injured Worth forget and pardon man. 

' Would. ' Corner. 



89 



Tr.B HUMBLE PETITION OF BEUAii WATER,* 

TO THE NOBLE BUKE OF AT HOLE. 

My Lord, I know your noble ear 

Woe ne'er assails in vain ; 
En)boldened thus, I beg you'll hear 

Your humble slave complain. 
How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams, 

In flaming summer pride. 
Dry-withering, waste my foamy streams^ 

And drink my crystal tide. 

The lightly jumping glowering trouts. 

That through my waters play, 
If, in their random, wanton spouts, 

They near the margin stray; 
If, hapless chance ! they linger lang, 

I'm scorching up to shallow. 
They're left the whitening stanes amang^ 

In gasping death to wallow. 

Last day I grat wi' sj^ite and teen, 

As Poet Burns came by. 
That, to a bard I should be seen 

Wi' half my channel dry : 
A panegyric rhyme, I ween, 

Ev'n as I was he shored^ me; 
But had I in my gloiy been. 

He, kneeling, wad adored me. 

Here, foaming down the shelvy rocka. 

In twisting strength I rin ; 
There, high my boiling torrent smokes. 

Wild-roaring o'er a. linn : 
Enjoying large each spring and well 

As nature gave them me, 
I am, although I say 't myscl'. 

Worth gann a mile to see. 

Would then my noble master please 

To grant my highest wishes. 
He'll shade my banks wi' towering trees, 

And bonnie sjjreading bushes ; 

' Bmar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly picturesque and beautiful; 
but their efTect is much impaired by the want of trees aad shrubs. 
* Assured. 



D 



BO TEE PETITION OF BRUAH WATER. 

Delighted doubly then, my Lord, 
You'll wander on my banks. 

And listen mony a grateful bird 
Return you tuneful thanks. 

The sober laverock,* warbling wild, 

Shall to the skies aspire ; 
The gowdspink,*'* music's gayest child, 

Shall sweetly join the choir: 
The blackbird strong, the liutwhite ^ clear* 

The mavis ■* mild and mellow ; 
The rcbin pensive autumn cheer. 

In all her locks of yellow. 

This, too, a covert shall ensure, 

To shield them from the storm; 
And co\>ard maukin* sleep secure. 

Low in her grassy form : 
Here shall the shepherd make his seat. 

To weave his crown of flowers ; 
Or find a sheltering safe retreat. 

From prone descending showers. 

And here, by sweet endearing stealth. 

Shall meet the loving paii% 
Despising worlds with all their wealth 

As empty, idle care : 
The flowers shall vie in all their charmc 

The hour of heaven to grace. 
And birks extend their fragrant arms 

To screen the dear embrace. 

Eere haply too, at vernal dawn, 

Some musing bard may stray, 
And eye the smoking-, dewy lawn, 

And misty mountain gi'ey : 
Or, b}^ the reajjer's nightly beam. 

Mild-chequering through the trees, 
Kave to my darkly-dashiug stream, 

Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. 

Let lofty fir.'?, and ashes cool, 
My lowly banks o'erspread, 

And view, deep-bending in the poolj 
Their shadows' v/atery bed ! 



> Lark. 
* Thrush. 



^ Goldfinch. 
" The hare. 



8 Linnet. 



a 



^VRITTEN WITH A PENCIL. 91 

Let fragraut birks in woodbines drest, 

My craggy clitfs adorn ; 
And, for the little songsters' nest, 

The close embow'ring thorn. 

So may old Scotia's darling hope, 

Your little angel band, 
Spring, like their fathers, np iD prop 

Their honoured native land i 
So may through Albion's farthest ken. 

To social flowing glasses, 
The grace be — " Athole's honest men, 

And Athole's bonnie lasses ! " 



WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL, 

STANDING BY THE FALL OF FYERS, KEAR LOCH-XESS. 

Among the heathy hills and ragged woods 

The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods ; 

Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds, 

Where, through a shapeless breach, his stream resoui.Js. 

As high in air the bursting torrents flow, 

As deep-recoiling surges foam below, 

Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends, 

And viewless Echo's ear, astonished, rends. 

Dim-seen, through rising mists, and ceaseless showers, 

The hoary cavern, wide- surrounding, lowers. 

Still through the gap the struggling river toils. 

And still Jjelow, the hon-id cauldron boils — 



ON SCAEING SOME WATERFOWL IN LOCH-TinilT 

A WILD SCENE AMID THE HILLS OF OUGHTEUTYRE. 

WiiY, ye tenants of the lake, 
For me your watery haunt Ibrsake ? 
Tell me, fellow-creatures, why 
At my presence thus you fly ? 
Why disturb your social joys, 
Parent, filial, kindred ties ? 
Common friend to you and me. 
Nature's gifts to all an; free : 
Peaceful keep your dimpling wave^ 
Busy feed, or wa'.itou lave ; 
Or, beneath the sheltering rock. 
Bide the surging billow's shock. 



It 



92 CASTLE-GORDON. 

Conscious, blushing for our race, 
Soon, too soon, your fears I trace. 
i\Taii, your proud usurping foe, 
Would be lord of all below: 
Plumes himself in Fi-eedom's pride^ 
Tyrant stern to all beside. 

The eagle, from the cliffy brow. 
Marking you his prey below, 
In liis breast no pity dwells, 
Strong necessity compels. 
But man, to whom alone is given 
A ray direct from pitying Heaven, 
Glories in his heart humane — 
And creatures for his pleasure slain. 

In these savage, liquid plains, 
Only known to wand'ring swains. 
Where the mossy riv'let strays; 
Far from human haunts and ways; 
All on Nature you depend, 
And life's poor season peaceful spend. 

Or, if man's supei'ior might, 
Dare invade your native right. 
On the lofty ether borne, 
Man with all his powers you scorn; 
Swiftly seek, on clanging wings, 
Other lakes and other springs ; 
And the foe you cannot brave, 
Scorn at least to be his slave. 



CASTLE-GORDON. 

[These lines were written after Burns's brief visit to Gordon Ca!=tle. 
Tlie Poet enclosed them to James Hoy, librarian to the Duke of Gordon. 
The Duchess guessed them to be by Dr. Beattie, and on learning thej 
were by Burns, regretted that they were not in the Scottish language] 

Streams that glide in Orient plains, 
Never bound by winter's chains ! 

Glowing here on golden sands, 
There commixed with foulest stains 

From tyranny's empurpled bands: 
These, their richly gleaming waves, . 
I leave to tyrants and their slaves ; 
Give me the streaui that s\veetly lave* 
The banks by Castle-Gordon. 



P 



TO MISS CRUIKSHANKS. 93 

Spicy forests, ever gay, 
Shading from the burning ray 

Hapless wretches sold to toil, 
Or the ruthless native's way. 

Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoili 
Woods that ever verdant wave, 
I leave the tyrant and the slave ; 
Give me the groves that lofty brave 
The storms by Castle- Gordon. 

Wildly here, without control, 
Nature reigns and rules the whole; 

In that sober, pensive mood, 
Dearest to the feeling soul. 

She plants the forest, pours the flood: 
Life's poor day I '11 musing rave, 
And find at night a sheltering cave, 
Where waters flow and wild woods wave, 
By bonny Castle- Gordon. 



TO MISS CRUIKSHANKS, 

A VERY T0T7NG LADY, 

Written on the blank leaf of a book presented to her by the Anthoi; 

Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay, 
Blooming on thy early May, 
Never may'st thou, lovely flower. 
Chilly shrink in sleety shower! 
Never Boreas' hoary path. 
Never Eurus' poisonous breath. 
Never baleful stellar lights, 
Taint thee with untimely blights I 
Never, never reptile thief 
Riot on thy virgin leaf ! 
Nor even Sol too fiercely view 
Thy bosom blushing still with dew I 

May'st thou long, sweet crimson gem. 
Richly deck thy native stem ; 
Till some evening, sober, calm, 
Dropping dews, and breathing balm, 
While all around the woodland rings. 
And every bird thj'- requiem sings ; 
Thou, amid the dirgeful sound. 
Shed th^ dying honours round, 
And resign to parent earth 
The loveliest form she ^l\n■ s^ave birth. 



^1 

POETICAL ADDRESS TO ME. WILLIAM TYTLER/ 

"WITH A PRESENT OP THE BAED's PICTUKE. 

E-EArERED defender of beauteous Stuart,' 

Of Stuart, a name once respected, — 
A name which to love was the mark of a true heart, 

But now 'tis despised and neglected. 

Though something like moisture conglobes in my eye. 

Let no one misdeem me disloyal ; 
A poor friendless wandei-er may well claim a sigh, 

Still more, if that wanderer were royal. 

My fathers that name have revered on a throne ; 

My fathers have fallen to right it ; 
Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son, 

That name should he scoffingly slight it. 

Still in prayers for King George I most heartily ;oiu, 
The Queen, and the rest of the gentry ; 

Be they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine- - 
Their title 's avowed by my country. 

But why of this epocha make such a fuss, 

That gave us the Hanover stem ; 
If bringing them over was lucky for us, 

I'm sure 'twas as lucky for them. 

But, loyalty, truce ! we're on dangerous ground. 
Who knows how the fashions may alter P 

The doctrine to-day that is loyaltv sound. 
To-morrow may bring us a halter. 

I send you a trifle, a head of a bard, 

A trifle scarce worthy your care : 
But accept it, good sir, as a mark of regard. 

Sincere as a saint's dying prayer. 

!Now life's chilly evening dim shades on your eye. 

And ushers the long dreary night ; 
But you, like the star that athwart gilds the sky. 

Tour course to the latest is bright. 

""ytler was grandfatlier to Patrick Fiaser Tytler, tlie lii.storiao. 
Queen of Scots. 



95 



£LEGY ON THE DEATH OF ROBEET DUNDAS. ESQ, 
OE AENISTON, 

LORD PRESIDENT OF THE COURT OF SESSION, DIED, 1787. 

Lone on the bleaky hills the straying floclvg 
Shun the fierce storms among the shelterrrig rocks ; 
Down foam the rivulets, red with dashing rains ! 
The gathering Hoods burst o'er th-s distant plains , 
Beneath the blast the leafless forests groan ; 
The hollow caves return a sullen moan. 

Ye hills, ye plains, ye forests, and ye caves, 
Ye howling winds, and wintry swelling waves 1 
Unheard, unseen, by human ear or eye. 
Sad to your sympathetic scenes I fly ; 
Where, to the whistling blast and waters' roar 
Pale Scotia's recent wound I may deplore. 
Oh, heavy loss, thy country ill could bear ! 
A loss th«se evil days can ne'er repair ! 
Justice, the high vicegerent of her God, 
Her doubtful balance eyed, and swayed her rod; 
She heard the tidings of the fatal blow, 
And sunk, abandoned to the wildest woe. 

"Wrongs, injuries, from many a darksome den, 
ISTow gay in hope explore the paths of men ; 
See, from his cavern, grim Oppression rise. 
And throw on Poverty his cruel eyes : 
Keen on the helpless victim see him fly. 
And stifle, dark, the feebly-bursting cry. 

Mark ruffian Violence, distained with crimes. 

Bousing elate in these degenerate times; 

View unsuspecting Innocence a prey, 

As guileful Fraud points out the erring way: 

"While subtle Litigation's pliant tongue 

The life-blood equal sticks of Bight and Wrong; 

Hark ! injured "VVant recounts th' unlistened tale. 

And much-wronged Misery pours th' unpitied waiL 

Ye dark waste hills, and l^rown unsightly plains. 
To you I sing my grief-insjjired strains : 
Ye tempests, rage! ye turbid torrents, roll! 
Ye suit the joyless tenor of my soul. 
Life's social haunts and pleasures I resign. 
Be nameless wilds and lonely wanderings mina. 
To mourn the woes my country must endure. 
That wound degenerate ages cannot cure. 



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96 



\ 



WRITTEN IN FRIARS-OARSE HERMITAGE. ON 
NITH-SIDE. 

FIKST VERSION. 

Thou wTiom chance may hither lead* 
Be thou clad in russet weed, 
Be thou deckt in silken stole, 
Grave these counsels on thy soul. 

Life is but a day at most, 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost; 
Hope not sunshme every hour, 
Fear not clouds will always lower. 

As youth and love, with sprightly daT.c«^ 
Beneath thy morning star advance, 
Pleasure with her siren air 
May delude the thoughtless pair ; 
Let prudence bless enjoyment's cup. 
Then raptured sip, and sip it up. 

As thy day grows warm and high, 

Life's meridan flaming nigh. 

Dost thou spurn the humble vale ? 

Life's proud summits wouldst thou scale P 

Check thy climbing step, elate. 

Evils lurk in felon wait : 

Dangers, eagle-pinioned, bold, 

Soar around each cliffy hold. 

While cheerful peace, with hnnet song. 

Chants the lowly dells among. 

As the shades of evening close, 

Beck'ning thee to long repose ! 

As life itself becomes disease, 

Seek the ehimney-neuk of ease. 

There ruminate "with sober thought, 

On all thou 'st seen, and heard, and wrought ; 

And teach the sportive younkers round, 

Saws of experience, sage and sound. 

Say, Man's true, genuine estimate, 

The grand criterion of his fate, 

Is not, Art thou high or low? 

Did thy fortune ebb or flow? 

Did many talents gild thy span? 

Or frugal nature grudge thee one? 



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WRITTEN IN FRIARS - CARSE HERMITAGE. 97 

Tell them, and press it on their mind, 
As thou thyself must shortly find, 
The smile or frown of awful Heaven, 
To virtue or to vice is given. 
Say, to be just, and kind, and wise, 
Thei'e solid self-enjoyment lies ; 
That foolish, selfish, faithless ways. 
Lead to the wretched, vile, and base. 

Thus resigned and quiet, oreep 

To the bed of lasting sleep ; 

Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake, 

x^ight, where dawn shall never break. 

Till future life, futui-e no more, 

To light and joy the good restore. 

To light and joy unknown before. 

Stranger, go ! Heaven be thy guide I 
Quod the beadsman of Nith-side. 

SECOND VEESION. 

Qlemiddel Hermitage, June 28, 1788. From the MS. 

Thou whom chance may hither lead, 
Be thou clad in russet weed, 
Be thou deckt in silken stole. 
Grave these maxims on thy soul. 

Life is but a day at most, 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost; 
Hope not sunshine every hour, 
Fear not clouds will always lour. 
Happiness is but a name. 
Make content and ease thy aim. 
Ambition is a meteor-gleam. 
Fame, an idle, restless dream : 
Peace, the tenderest lloTOer of spring; 
Pleasures, insects on the wing ; 
Those that sip the dew alone. 
Make the butterflies thy own ; 
Those that would the bloom devour, 
Ci'ush the locusts, save the flower. 
For the future be prepared, 
Guard, wherever thou caust guard ; 
But thy utmost duly done. 
Welcome what thou canst not shun. 
Follies past give thou to air. 
Make their consequence thy care : 
Keep the name of Man in mind, 
And dishonour not thy kind. 



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98 TO CLALilNDA. 

Reverence, with lowly heart, 
Him whose wondrous work thou artj 
Keep His goodness still in view, 
Thy Trust, and thy Example too. 

Stranger, go ! Heaven be thy guide J 
Quod the beadsman of Nithe-side. 



TO CLARINDA.' 

Clauinda, mistress of my soul, 

The measured time is run ! 
The wretch beneath the dreary Pole, 

So marks his latest sun. 

To what dark cave of frozen night 

Shall poor Sylvander hie ? 
Deprived of tliee, his life and light, 

The sun of all his joy ! 

We part— but, by these precious drops 

That fill thy lovely eyes ! 
No other light shall guide my steps 

Till thy bright beams arise. 

She, the fair sun of all her sex, 
Bas blest my glorious day ; 

And shall a glimmering planet fix 
My worship to its ray ^ 



TO CLARINDA. 

T7ITir A PRESENT OF A PAIll OF DRINKIKG-GLASSBSft. 

Pair empress of the Poet's soul. 

And queen of poetesses ; 
Clarinda, take this little boon. 

This humble pair of glasses. 

And fill them high with generous juice^ 

As generous as your mind ; 
And pledge me in the generotis toast — 

" The whole of humankind ! " 

' "Clarinda" was the poetical appellation of Mrs. M'Lehose, whom hff 
met in Edinburgh at the period of the publication of his poems. 






m 



TO GLARINDA. 99 

**To those wlio love ns !" — second fill; 
But not to those whom we love ; 
Lest we love those who love not us ! 
A thh'd — " To thee and me, love !" 

Long may we live ! longmay we love I 

And long may we be happy ! 
And may we never want a glass 

Well charged with generous nappy I 



TO CLARIlSrDA. 

Before I saw Clarinda's face 
My heart was blithe and gay, 

Pree as the wind, or feathered race 
That hop from spray to spray. 

But now dejected I appear, 

Ciarinda proves unkind; 
I, sighing, drop the silent tear. 

But no rehef can find. 

In plaintive notes my tale rehearses 
Whenl the fair have found : 

On every tree appear mj' verses 
That to her praise resound. 

But she, ungrateful, shuns my sight» 

My fiiitht'ul love disdains, 
My vows and tears her scorn excite— 

Another happy reigns. 

Ah, though my loolcs betray 

I envy your success ; 
Yet love to friendship shall give way, 

I cannot wish it less. 



TO CLARmDA. 

"l BTTRN, I burn, as when through ripened corn, 
By driving winds, the crackling flames are borne !" 
Now maddening, wild, I curse that fatal nir^'ht ; 
T^ow bless the hour which charmed my guilty sight. 
In vain the laws tlieir feeble force oppose; 
Chained at his i'cet they groan. Love's vanquished foess 

LofC. 



too 3IRS. FEROUSSON'S LAMENT. 

In vain Religion meets my shrinking eye; 
I dare not combat — but I turn and fly : 
Conscience in vain uj^braids the unhallowed firej 
Love grasps its scorpions — stifled they expire; 
Eoason drops headlong from his saci-ed throne, 
Your dear idea reigns, and reigns alone : 
Each thought intoxicated homage yields, 
And riots v/anton in forbidden fields ! 

By all on high, adoring mortals know ! 

By all the conscious villain fears below ! 

By your dear self! — the last great oath I swear — 

!Nor life nor soul was ever half so dear ! 



MRS. FERGUSSON OF CRAIGDARROOH'S LAMENT 
FOR THE DEATH OF HER SON". 

Fate gave the word, the arrow spfed, 

And pierced my darling's heart ; 
And with him all the joys are fled 

Life can to me impart. 
By cruel hands the sapling drops. 

In dust dishonoured laid ; 
So fell the pride of all my hopes, 

My age's future shade. 

The mother-linnet in the brake 

Bewails her ravished young; 
So I, for my lost darling's sake, 

Lament the live-day long. 
Death, oft I 've feared thy fatal blow» 

Now, fond, I bare my breast ; 
Oh, do thou kindly lay me low 

With liim I love, at rest ! 



ELEGY ON THE YEAR 1783. 

A SKETCH. 

Fou lords or kings I dinna mourn, 

E'en let them die — for that they 're bornl 

But, oh ! prodigious to reflec' ! 

A towmont,' sirs, is gane to wreck I 

' Twelvemonth. 



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ELEGY ON THE YEAR 1788. 101 

O Eighty- eio-lit, in fhy sma' space 
What dive events hae taken 2:)lace ! 
Of what enjoyments thou liast reft usl 
In what a pickle thou hast left ns ! 

The Spanish empire's tint ' a head, 
And my auld teethless Bawtie's'^ dead; 
The tnlzie's* sair 'tween Pitt and Fox, 
And our giiidwife's wee birdie cocks ; 
The tane is game, a bluidy devil, 
But to the hen-birds unco civil ; 
The tither's something dour o' treadin*. 
But better stuff ne'er clawed a midden.* 

Xe ministers, come mount the pu'pit. 
And cry till ye be hoarse and roopit, 
For Eighty-eight he wished you weel, 
And gied you a' baith gear* and meal; 
E'en mony a plack. and mony a peck. 
Ye ken yoursel's, for little feck ! ^ 

Ye bonny lasses, dight' your een, 
For some o' you ha"e tint a frien' ; 
In Eighty-eight, ye ken, was ta'eu 
What ye '11 ne'er hae to gie again. 

Observe the very nowte ^ and sheep. 
How dowf and dowie ' now they creepj 
Nay, even the yirth itsel' does cry. 
For Embrugh wells are grutten *" dry. 

O Eighty-nine, thou 's but a bairn. 

And no owre auld, I hope, to learn ! 

Thou beardless boy, I pray tak' care, 

Thou now hast got thy daddy's chair ; 

Nae handcuffed, muzzled, half-shackled Eegeat^ 

But, like himsel', a full, free agent. 

Be sure ye follow out the plan 

Nae waur than he did, honest manl 

As muckle better as you can. 

Jan. 1, 1789. 

' Lost. » His dog. " Fight. 

* Dungheap. ' Goods. " Work. 
» Wipe. • Cattle. 

• Pithless and low-spirited. •" Wept. 



102 



TO CAPTAZN" EIDDEL, OF GLENRIDDEL. 

BXTEMPOUE LINES ON RETURNING A NEWSPAPER CONTAINIRO 
CRITICISES ON THE POEt's WORKS. 

youR news and review, sir, I've read througli and through, sir, 

With little admiring or blaming ; 
The papers are barren of home news or foreign, 
No murders or rapes worth the naming. 

Our friends, the reviewers, those chippers and hewers, 

Are judges of mortar and stone, sir; 
But of meet or unmeet, in a fabric complete, 

I boldly pronounce they are none, sir. 

My goose-quill too rude is to tell all your goodness 

Bestowed on your servant, the Poet ; 
Would to God i had one like a beam of the sun. 

And then all the world, sir, should know it I 
Ellidand, Monday Evening, 



TO JOHN TAYLOR. 

"With Pegasus upon a day, 

Apollo weary flying, 
Through frosty hills the journey lay, 

On foot the way was j)lyiug. 

Poor slipshod giddy Pegasua 

Was but a sorry walker; 
To Vulcan then Apollo goes. 

To get a frosty caulker.' 

Obliging Vulcan fell to work. 

Threw by his coat and bonnet. 
And did Sol's business in a crack: 

Sol paid him with a sonnet. 

Te Vulcan's sons of Wanlockheadf 

Pity my sad disaster; 
My Pegasus is poorly shod — 

I '11 pay you like my master. 

Egbert Bitrns. 
Ramncjcs, 3 o'clock. 

' A nail put into a shoe to prevent the foot from slipping in froat 
weather. 



Jir~ 



o 



103 



SKETCH. 

[Inscribed to the Eight Hon. C. J. Fox.] 

How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite ; 
How virtue and vice Blend their black and their white ; 
How genius, the illustrious father of fiction, 
Confounds rule and law, reconciles contradiction — 
I sing: if these mortals, the critics, should bustle, 
I care not, not 1 — let the critics go whistle ! 

But now for a patron, whose name and whose glory 
At once may illustrate and honour my story. 

Thou first of our orators, first of our wits ; 

Yet whose parts and acquirements seem mere lucky hits ; 

With knowledge so vast, and with judgment so strong, 

No man with the half of 'em e'er went far wrong ; 

With passions so potent, and fancies so bright, 

No man with the half of 'em e'er went quite right ; 

A Sony, poor misbegot son of the Muses, 

For using thy name offers fifty excuses. 

Good Lord, what is man. ? for as simple he looks. 
Do but try to develop his hooks and his crooks ; 
With his depths and his shallows, his good and his evil; 
All in all he 's a problem must jjuzzle the devil. 

On his one ruling passion Sir Pope hugely labours. 

That, like the old Hebrew walking-switch, eats np its 

neighbours ; 
Mankind are his show-box — a friend, would you know him ? 
Pull the string, ruling passion the picture will shov/ him. 
What pity, in rearing so beauteous a system, 
One trifling particular truth should have missed him; 
For, spite of his fine theoretic positions, 
Mankind is a science defies definitions. 

Some sort all our quaUties each to its tribs; 

And think human nature they truly describe; 

Have you found this, or t'other ? there 's more in the wind. 

As by one drunken fellow his comrades you '11 find. 

But such is the flaw, or the depth of the plan. 

In the make of that wonderful creatui-e called Man, 

No two virtues, whatever relation they claim, 

Nor even two different shades of the same. 

Though like as was ever twin bi-other to brother. 

Possessing the one shall imply you 've the other. 

But truce with abstraction, and truce with a Muse, 
Whose rhymes you'll perhaps, sir, ne'er deign to peruse: 



p »" 



104 ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE. 

Will yon leave your justinffs, your jars, and yoiir quarrels, 

Contending with Billy for i:)rond-nodding laurels? 

My much-honoured patron, believe your poor Poet, 

Your courage much more than your prudence you show it, 

In vain with Squire Billy for laurels you struggle, 

He '11 have them by fair trade, if not, he will smuggle; 

jSTot cabinets even of kings would conceal 'em. 

He 'd up the back stairs, and, by God, he would steal 'em I 

Then feats like Squire Billy's you ne'er can achieve 'em, 

It is not outdo him, the task is out-thieve him ! 



ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME, 

"WHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST SHOT AT. 

Inhuman man ! curse on thy barb'rous art, 
And blasted be thy murder- aiming eye : 
May never pity soothe thee with a. sigh, 
Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart ! 

Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and fieldj^ 
The bitter little that of life remains : 
No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains 
To thee shall home, or food, or jjastime yield. 

Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest— 
No more of rest, but now thy dying bed ! 
The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head. 
The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest. 

Oft as by winding Nith I, musing, wait 

The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, 

1 '11 miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, 

And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy hapless fate. 



DELIA. 

AN ODE. 
" To the Stat Newspaper. 

*' Mr. Printer, — If the productions of a simple ploughman can merit 
a place ia the same paper with the other favourites of the Muses who 
illuminate the Star with the lustre of genius, your insertion of the 
enclosed trifle will, be succeeded by future communications from yours, 
&c., " Robert Burns. 

*' Ellisland, near Dumfries, May 18, 1789." 

Fair tlie face of orient day. 
Fair the tints of opening rose: 
But faii'er still my Delia dawjia, 
More lovely far her beauty blows. 



ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE. lOfi 

Sweet the lark's wild-v/arbled lay. 
Sweet the tinkling rill to hear ; 
But, Delia, more delightful stiU, 
Steal thine accents on mine ear. 

The flower-enamoured busy bee 
The rosy banquet loves to sip ; 
Sweet the streamlet's limpid laps© 
To the sun-browned Arab's lip. 

But, Delia, on thy balmj^ lips 
Let me, no vagrant insect, rove! 
Oh, let me steal one liquid kiss ! 
For, oh ! my soul is parched with love t 



ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE. 

WBIITEN WHEN TilE AUTHOR WAS GRIEVOtTSLY TORMENTED BY TEAS 
DISORDER. 

My curse upon thy venomed stang, 
That shoots my tortured gums alang; 
And through my lugs gi'es mony a twang, 

Wi' gnawing vengeance ; 
Tearing my nerves \d' bitter pang, 

Like racking engines ! 

'WTien fevers burn, or ague freezes, 
Rheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes ; 
Our neighbours' sjnnpathy may ease us, 

Wi' pitying moan ; 
But thee — thou hell o' a' diseases. 

Aye mocks our groan I 

Adown my beard the slavers trickle ! 
I kick the wee stools o'er the mickle, 
As round the fire the giglets keckle,' 

To see rae loup ; ^ 
While, raving mad, I wish a heckle ' 

Were hi their doup. 

Of a' the numerous human dools,* 
111 hairsts,^ daft bargains, cutty-stools, 
Or worthy friends raked i' the mcols,® 

Sad sight to see ! 
The tricks o' knaves, or tash o' fools, 

Thou bear'st the gree.' 

* The mirthful children laugh. * Jump. 

* Hemp-frame. ■* Grievances. * Harvest* 

* Mould. ' Thou art decidedly victor. 



106 ON CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS. 

Where'er that place be priests ca' hell, 
"Whence a' the tones o' misery yell, 
And ranked plagues their numbers tell, 

In dreadfu' raw, 
Thou, Toothache, surely bear'st the bell 

Amang them a*I 

O thou grim mischief-maldng chiel. 
That gars the notes of discord squeel. 
Till daft mankind aft dance a reel 

In gore a shoe-thick, 
Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal 

A towmond's ' toothache ! 

ON CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGEINATIONS 
THROUGH SCOTLAND, 

COLLECTING THE ANTIQUITIES OF THAT KINGDOM. 

Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brither Scots, 
Frae Maiden kirk '■' to Johnny Groat's ; 
If there's a hole in a' yoiir coats, 

I rede yon tent ' it : 
A chiel's amang you, taking notes, 

And, faith, he '11 prent it. 

If in your bounds ye chance to light 

Upon a fine, fat, fodgel * wight, 

0' stature short, but genius bright. 

That 's he, mark weel 
And wow ! he has an unco slight 

O' cauk and keel.* 

By some auld, houlot-haunted biggin',* 

Or kirk deserted by its riggin'. 

It 's ten to aue ye '11 find him snug in 

Some eldritch ' part, 
Wi' de'ils, they say. Lord save 's ! coUeaguin', 

At some black art. 

Hk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or cham'er, 

Ye gipsy gang that deal in glamour. 

And you deep read in hell's black grammar. 

Warlocks and witches 
Te'll quake at his conjui-ing hammer, 

Ye midnight bitches. 

• A year's. 

• Kirkmaiden, Wigtonshire, the most southerly parish in Scotland. 
» Look to it. ■* Plump. 

• Chalk and pencil ; he is a good artist. 

• Vide his Antiquities of Scotland. ' Unholy, magic. 



n 



ON CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS. 107 

It 's tauld lie was a sodger bred, 
And ane wad rather fa'n than fled ; 
But now lie 's qiiat ' the spurtle blade,'* 

And dogskin wallet* 
And ta'en the — Antiquarian trade, 

I think they call it. 

He has a fouth ^ o' auld nick-nackets : 
Rusty airn caps and jinglin' jackets, 
Wad haud the Lothians three in tacketa, 

A towmont* guid; 
And pamtch-pats, and auld saut-backeta. 

Before the Flood. 



Of Eve's first fire he has a cruder ; 
Auld Tubulcain's fire-sliool and fender; 
That which distinguished the gender 

0' Balaam's ass ; 
A broom-stick o' the witch of Endor, 

Weel shod wi' brass. 



Forbye, he '11 shape you afi", fu' gleg,* 
The cut of Adam's philabeg : 
The knife that nicket Abel's craig 

He '11 prove you fully. 
It was a faulding jocteleg,* 

Or lang-kail gully. 

But wad ye see him in his glee, 
For meikle glee and fun has he, 
Then set him down, and twa or three 

Guid fellows wi' him ; 
And port, port ! shine thou a wee, 

And then ye '11 see him I 

Now, by the powers o' verse and prose 1 
Thou art a dainty chiel, Grose ! 
Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose. 

They sair misca' thee ; 
I 'd take the rascal by the nose, 

Wad say, Shame fa' thee ! 

' Quitted ' A stick used in making oatmeal porridg& 

• Plenty. * Year. « Sharp. 

• Knife. 



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108 

LIN'S S WEITTEN IN A WRAPPER, 

ENCLOSING A LETTEB, TO CAPTAIN SUOSE. 

Ken ye ought o' Captain Grose ? 

Igo and ago, 
If he 's amang his friends or foes 't 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Is he south, or is he north ? 

Igo and ago, 
Or drowned in the river Forth P 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Is he slain by Highlan' bodies ? 

Igo and ago, 
And eaten like a wether-haggis P 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Is he to Abram's bosom gane P 

Igo and ago. 
Or haudin' Sarah by the wameP 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Where'er he be, the Lord be near him I 

Igo and ago, 
As for the de'ii, he daurna steer him t 

Iram, coram, dago. 

But please transmit tli' enclosed letter, 

Igo and ago, 
Which will oblige your humble debtor, 

Iram, coram, dago. 

So may ye hae auld stanes in store, 

Igo and ago, 
The very stanes that Adarn bore, 

Iram, coram, dago. 

So may ye get in glad possession, 

Igo and ago. 
The coins o' Satan's coronation I 

Iram, coram, dago. 



109 

SKETCH— NEW YEAR'S DAY, [1790.] 

TO MM. DUNLOP. 

This day, Time winds the exliausted chain. 
To run the twelvemonth's length again : 
I see the old, bald-pated fellow, 
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow. 
Adjust the unimpaired machine, 
To wheel the equal dull routine. 

The absent lovei', minor heir, 
In vain assail him with their prayer; 
Deaf, as my friend, he sees them press, 
Nor makes the hour one moment less. 
Will 3'ou (the Major's ' with the hounds. 
The hajjpy tenants share his rounds ; 
Coihi's fair Eachel's ^ care to day, 
And blooming Keith'p* engaged with Gray) 
From housewife cares a minute borrow — 
That gi-andchild's cap Avill do to-morrow — 
And join with me a-moralizing, 
This day's propitious to be wise in. 

First, what did yesternight deliver ? 

" Another year is gone for ever ! " 

And what is this day's strong suggestion P 

"The passing moment's all we rest on ! " 

Eest on — for what? what do we here? 

Or why regard the passing year P 

Will Time, amused with provei-bed lore» 

Add to our date one minute more? 

A few days may — a few years must — 

Repose ns in the silent dust ; 

Then is it wise to damp our bliss ? 

Yes — all such reasonings are amiss I 4 

The voice of Nature loudly cries, 

And many a message from the sliie3» 

That something in us never dies : 

That on this frail, uncertain state, 

Hang matters of eternal weight : 

That future life, in worlds unknown. 

Must take its hue from this alone; 

Whether as heavenly glorj' bright. 

Or dark as Misery's woeful night. 

' Major, afterwards General, Andrew Dunlop, Mrs. Diinlop's second 
son. 

* Miss Rachel Dunlop. ' Miss Keith Diiulop, the youngest daughter 



110 PROLOGUE— NEW YEAR'S DAW 1790. 

Since, then, my honoured first of friends, 
On this poor being all depends, 
Let us the important Now employ, 
And live as those who never die. 

Though you, with days and honours croTimed* 
Witness that filial circle round, 
(A sight life's sorrows to repulse, 
A sight pale Envy to convulse,) 
Others now claim your chief regard ; 
Yourself, you wait your bright reward. 



PEOLOGUE, 

(SPOKEN AT THE THEATEE, DUMFRIES, ON NEW YEAR'S DAl 

EVENING, [1790.] 

No song nor dance I biing from yon great city 

That queens it o'er our taste — the more's the pity: 

Though, by the by, abroad why will you roam ? 

Good sense and taste are natives here at home : 

But not for panegyric I appear, 

I come to wish you all a good new year ! 

Old Father Time dejDutes me here before ye, 

Not for to preach, but tell his simple story. 

The sage grave ancient coughed, and bade me say, 

" You 're one year older this important day." 

If wiser, too — he hinted some suggestion. 

But 'twould be rude, you know, to ask the question; 

And with a would-be roguish leer and wink. 

He bade me on you press this one word — " Think ! " 

Ye sprightly youths, quite flushed with hope and spirit, 

Who think to storm the world by dint of merit, 

To you the dotard has a deal to say. 

In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb way ! 

He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle. 

That the first blow is ever half the battle ; 

That though some by the skirt may try to snatch him. 

Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch him ; 

That whether doing, sufiering, or forbearing, 

You may do miracles by i>ersevering. 

Last, though not least, in love, ye faithful fair. 
Angelic forms, high Heaven's peculiar care ! 
To you old Bald-pate smooths his wrinkled brow, 
And humbly begs you '11 mind the important Nowl 
To crown your happiness he asks your leave. 
And offers bliss to give and to receive. 



PROLOGUE— MR. SUTHERLAND'S BENEFIT. \\\ 

For our sincere, though haply weak, endeavoiira. 
With grateful pride we own your many favours} 
And howsoe'er our tongues may ill reveal it, 
Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel it. 



PKOLOGUB, 

FOE MR. SUTIIEKLANd's BENEFIT NIGHT, DUMTHIES. 

[Tills prologue was accompanied with the following letter to Mr. Sutlier- 
Innd, the manager of the Dumfries Theatre : — 

" Monday Morning. 

' ' I was much disappointed in wanting your most agreeable company 
yesterday. However, I heartily pray for good weather ntxt Sxmday ; and 
whatever aerial being has the guidance of the elements, he may take any 
other half-dozen of Sundays he iilcases, and clothe them '.vith — 

" Vapoui's, and clouds, and storms, 
Until he terrify himself 
At combustion of his own raising. 

[ shall see you oa Wednesday forenoon. In the greatest Larry, — II. B."] 

What needs this din about the town o' Lon'on, 
How this new play and that new sang is comin' ? 
Why is outlandish stuff sae meikle' courted? 
Does nonsense mend, like whisky, when imported ? 
Is there nae poet, burning keen for fame. 
Will try to gi'e us sangs and plays at hame? 
For comedy abroad he needna toil, 
A fool and knave are plants of every soil; 
Nor need he hunt as far as Eome and Greece 
To gather matter for a serious piee-e ; 
There's themes enow in Caledonian story, 
Would show the tragic muse in a' her glory. 

Is there no daring bard will rise and tell 
How glorious Wallace stood, how hapless fell? 
Where are the Aluses fled that could produce 
A drama worthy o' tlie name o' Bruce? 
How here, even here, he first unsheathed the sword 
'Gainst mighty England and her guilty lord ; 
And after mony a bloody, deathless doing, 
Wrenched his dear country from the jaws of ruinP 
Oh, for a Shakespeare or an Otway scene 
To draw the lovely, hapless Scottish queen ! 
Vain all the omnipotence of female charms 
'Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad Eebellion's armA. 

* Much. 



_r 



lis TO THE OWL. 

She fell, but fell with spirit truly Romaic 

To glnt the vengeance of a rival woman : 

A woman — though the phrase may seem uncivil— 

As able and as cruel as the devil ! 

One Douglas lives in Home's immortal page, 

But Douglases were heroes every age : 

And though your fathers, prodigal of life, 

A Douglas followed to the martial strife, 

Perhaps, if bowls row right, and Right succeeds, 

Te yet may follow where a Douglas leads ! 

As ye hae generous done, if a' the land 

Would take the Muses' servants by the hand; 

Not only hear, but patronize, betViend them, 

And where ye justly can commend, commend themj 

And aiblins when they winna stand the test, 

Wink hard, and say the folks hae done their best 1 

Would a' the land do this, then I '11 be caution 

Te '11 soon hae poets of the Scottish nation, 

Will gar Fame blaw until her trumpet crack. 

And warsle ' Time, and lay him on his back ! 

For us and for our stage should only spier," 

" Wha's aught thae chiels mak's a' this bustle here?' 

My best leg foremost, I '11 set up my brow. 

We have the honour to belong to you ! 

We 're your aiu bairns, e'en guide us as ye like. 

But, like good mithers, shore ^ beibre ye strike. 

And gratefu' still I hope ye '11 ever find us. 

For a' the patronage and meikle kindness 

We 'vc got frae a' professions, sets, and ranks ; 

God help us ! we 're but poor — ye'se get but thanka. 



TO THE OWL. 

Sad bird of night, v/hat sorrows call thee forth, 
To vent thy plaints thus in the midnight hour P 

Is it some blast that gathers in the north, 

Threatening to nip the verdure of thy bower? 

Is it, sad owl, that Autumn strips the shade, 
And leaves thee here, unsheltered and forlorn? 

Or fear that Winter will thy nest iuvade P 
Or friendless melancholy bids thee mourn ? 

Shut out. lone bird, from all the feathered train. 
To tell thy sorrows to the unheeding gloom; 

!No friend to pity when thou dost complain, 
Grief all thy thought, and solitude thy home. 

' Wrestle. '^ Ask. * Threatea, 



L 



AN EVENING VIEW OF LINCLUDEN ABBEY. 113 

Sino' on, sad mourner! I will bless thy strain, 
And pleased in sorrow listen to thy song- 

Sing on, sad mourner! to the night complain, 
While the lone echo wafts thy notes along* 

Is beauty less, when down the glowing cheek 
Sad, piteous tears, in native sorrows fall ? 

Less kind the heart when anguish bids it break P 
Less happy he who lists to pity's call ? 

Ah, no, sad Owl ! nor is thy voice less sweet. 
That sadness tunes it, and that grief is there; 

That Spring's gay notes, unskilled, thou canst repeat; 
That sorrow bids thee to the gloom repair. 

Nor that the treble songsters of the day 

Are quite estranged, sad bird of night ! from thee; 

Nor that the thrush deserts the evening spray, 
When darkness calls thee from th}^ reverie. 

From some old tower, thy melancholy dome, 
AVhile the grey walls, and desert solitudes, 

Eeturn each note, responsive to the gloom 
Of ivied coverts and surrounding woods. 

There hooting, I will list more pleased to thee 

Than ever lover to the nightingale : 
Or drooping wretch, oppressed with misery, 

Lending his ear to some condoling tale. 



VEESES 

OH AN EVENING VIEW OF THE KUINS OF LINCLUDEN ABBEY.' 

Ye holy walls, that, still sublime, 
Resist the crumbling touch of time; 
How strongly still your form displays 
The piety of ancient days ! 
As through your ruins, hoar and grey — 
Ruins yet beauteous in decay — 
The silvery moonbeams trembling fly: 
The forms of ages long gone by 
Crowd thick on Fancy's wondering eye, 
And wake the soul to musings high. 
Even now, as lost in thought profound, 
T view the solemn scene around, 

' Thf-se beautiful ruins are on the banks of the river Cludcn, near 
Dnrnfiies. The Abbey was founded in tlie lime of Malcolm IV., King of 
Scotland, by one of the Lords of Galloway. 

I 



114 J H EVENING VIEW OF LINCLUDEN ABBEY, 

And, pensive, gaze with wistful eyes, 

The past returns, the present Hies ; 

Again the dome, in pristine pride, 

Lifts high its roof and arches wide. 

That, knit with curious tracery, 

Each Gothic ornament display. 

The high-arched windows, j)ainted fair. 

Show many a saint and martyr there. 

As on their slender forms I gaze, 

Methinks they brighten to a blaze ! 

With noiseless step and taper bright, 

What are yon forms that meet my sight? 

Slowly they move, while every eye 

Is heavenward raised in ecstasy. 

'Tis the fair, spotless, vestal train, 

That seek in prayer the midnight fane. 

And, hark ! what more than mortal sound 

Of music breathes the pile around ? 

'Tis the soft-chanted choral song. 

Whose tones the echoing aisles prolong; 

Till, thence returned, they softly stray 

O'er Cluden's wave, with fond delay; 

Now on the rising gale swell high, 

And now in fainting murmurs die ; 

The boatmen on Nith's gentle stream. 

That glistens in the pale moonbeam, 

Suspend their dashing oars to hear 

The holy anthem, loud and clear; 

Each worldly thought a while forbear. 

And mutter forth a half- formed prayer. 

But, as I gaze, the vision fails, 

Like frost-work touched by southern gales; 

The altar sinks, the tapers fade, 

And all the splendid scene's decayed. 

In window fair the painted pane 

No longer glows with holy staiu, 

But through the broken glass the gale 

Blows chilly from the misty vale; 

The bird of eve flits sullen b}^ 

Her home these aisles and arches high! 

The choral hymn, that erst so clear 

Broke softly sweet on Fancy's ear. 

Is drowned amid the monrnful scream 

That breaks the magic of my dream ! 

Boused by the sound, I start and see 

fffiid ruined sad reality ! 



HL 



J^ 



116 



VERSES TO MY BED. 

Tnor Bed, in which I first began 
To be that various creature — Mau! 
And when again the fates decree 
The place where I must cease to be ; 
When sickness comes, to whoni I fly. 
To soothe my pain, or close mine eye. 
When cares surround me where I weep^ 
Or lose them all in balmy sleep ; 
When sore with labour, whom I court. 
And to thy downy breast resort ; 
Where, too, ecstatic I'oys I find. 
When deigns my Delia to be kind — 
And full of love, in all her charms, 
Thou giv'st the fair one to my arnis._ 
The centre thou, where grief and pain. 
Disease and rest, alternate reign. 
Oh, since within thy little space 
So many various scenes take place; 
Lessons as useful shalt thou teach. 
As sages dictate — churchmen preach; 
And man, convinced by thee alone. 
This great important truth shall o%vTi:— 
That thin partitions do divide 
The bounds where good and ill reside; 
That nought is perfect here below ; 
But bUss still bord'ring upon woe. 



ELEGY ON PEG NICHOLSON, 

A BAY MARE OP MR. "W. NICOL's. 

Peg NicnoLsr n was a good bay mare 

As ever trode on airn ; ' 
But now she 's iloating down the Nith, 

And past the mouth o' Cairn. 

Peg Nicholson was a good bav mare, 
And rode through thick and Ihin ; 

But now she's floating down the Nith, 
And wanting e'eu the skin. 

' IroB. 



= 



UG TO A GENTLEMAN WHO SENT A NEWSPAPER. 

Peg Nicliolson was a good bay mare, 

And ance she bore a priest ; 
But now she 's floating down the Nith, 

I'or Solway fish a feast. 

Peg N'icholson was a good bay mare, 

And the priest he rode her sair ; 
And much oppressed and bruised she waSy 

As priest-rid cattle are. 



LINES 

10t,ITTEN TO A GENTLEMAN WHO HAD SENT HIM A NEWSPAPEB, 
AND OFFERED TO CONTINUE IT TREE OF EXPENSE. 

Kind Sir, I 'vq read your paper through, 
And, faith, to me 'twas really new ! 
How guessed ye, sir, wluit maiist I wanted? 
This mony a day I 've gratied and gaur.ted* 
To ken what French mischief was brevvm'. 
Or what the Drumlie Dutch were doin'; 
That vile doup-skelper, Emperor Joseph, 
If Venus yet had got his nose off; 
Or how the coUieshangie"^ works 
Atween the Russians and the Turks; 
Or if the Swede, before he halt. 
Would play anither Charles the Twalt: 

If Denmark, anybody sp'ak o't; 

Or Poland, wha had now the tack "^ o't ; 

How cut- throat Prussian blades where hingm*; 

How libbet Italy was singin' ; 

If Spaniards, Portuguese, or Swiss 

Were sayiu' or takin' aught amiss; 

Or how our merry lads at hame, 

In Britain's court, kept up the game ; 

How royal George, the Lord lenk o'er him I 

Was managing St. Stephen's quorum; 

If sleekit'* Chatham "Will was livin', 

Or glaikit* Charlie got his nieve in ; 

How Daddie Burke the plea was cookin*. 

If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin';' 

How cesses, stents, and fees were raxed, 

Or if bare a s yet were taxed ; 

' GroHDPfl and vawneil. "^ Quarrel. ' Lease. 

♦ Sly ■ s Thoughtless. « Itching. 



Q 



t 



J 



ELEGY OJy CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON. 117 

The news o' princes, dukes, and earls, 
Pimps, shai'pers, bawds, and opera girls; 
If that daft buckie, Geordle Wales, 
Was threshin' still at hizzies' tails ; 
Or if he was grown oughtlins douser,' 
And no a perfect kintra cooser. 
A' this and mair I never heard of; 
And but for you I might despaired of. 
So, gratefu', back your news I send you, 
And pray, a' guid things may attend you I 

EUisland, Monday Horning, 1790. 



ELEGY ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON, 

A GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PATENT FOK HIS HONOURS 
IMMEDIATELY FROM ALMIGHTY GOD. 

[Captain Henderson was a retired soldier, of agreeable manners au'l 
Bpright character, who had a lodging in Carrubber's Close, Edinburgh, 
and mingled with the best society of the city : he dined regularly at 
Fortune's Tavern, and was a member of the Capillaire Club, which wa* 
composed of all who inclined to the witty and the joyous. — Burns.} 

•'Should the poor be flattered?" — Skakspeabs. 

But now his radiant course is run, 

For Matthew's course was bright; 
His soul was like tlie glorious sun, 

A matchless, heavenly light ! 



O Death ! thou tyrant fell and bloody I 

The meikle devil wi' a woodie' 

Eaurl * thee hame to his black smiddie. 

O'er hurcheon * hides. 
And like stock-fish come o'er his studdie 

Wi' thy auld sides ! 

He 's gane ! he 's gane ! he 's frae us torn I 

The ae best fellow e'er was bom ! 

Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel, shall mourn 

By wood and wild. 
Where, haply. Pity strays forlorn, 

Frae man exiled ! 

Ye hills ! near neibors o' the starns,^ 
That proudly cock your cresting cairns ! 

• At all more sober. '•' Halter. ^ Drag. 

* Blacksmith's shop. * TlrcMn, or hedgehog. * Stars. 



118 ELEGY ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW UENDJLPmJH 

Te cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns,' 
Where Echo shimbers ! 

Come, join, ye ISTature's sturdiest bairas, 
My waihng numbers ! 

Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens ! 
Ye hazelly shaws and briery dens ! 
Ye burnies, wimplin' down your glens, 

Wi' toddlin' din. 
Or foaming Strang, wi' hasty stens,' 

Frae lin to lin ! 

Mourn, little harebells o'er the lea; 
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see ; 
Ye woodbines, hanging bonnilie 

In scented bowers; 
Ye roses on your thorny tree. 

The first o' flowers. 

At dawn, when every grassy blade 

DroojDs with a diamond at his head, 

At even, when beans their fragrance shed, 

I' the rustling gale, 
Ye maukins whiddin '^ through the glade, 

Oome, join my wail. 

Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood; 
Ye grouse that crap the heather bud ; 
Ye curlews calling through a clud; ■* 

Ye whistling plover ; 
And mourn, ye whirring j^aitrick* brood! 

He 's gane for ever. 

Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals; 
Ye fisher herons, watching eels; 
Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels 

Circling the lake ; 
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, 

Rair for his sake. 

Mourn, clam'ring craiks,^ at close o' day, 
'Mang fields o' flowering clover gay ; . 
And when ye wing your annual way 

Frae our caiild shore, 
Tell thae far worlds wha lies in clay, 

Wham we deplore. 

' Eagles. ^ Boiuids. 3 Hares running. 

♦ Cloud. * Partridge. * Lanl rails. 



n 



ELEQY ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON. 119 

Te houlets,' frae yotir ivy bower, 
In some auld tree or eldritcli tower, 
What time the moon, wi' sileut giower, 

Sets up her horn. 
Wail through the dreary midnight hour 

Till waukrife morn .', 

O rivers, forests, hills, and plains ! 
Oft have ye heard my canty strains : 
But now. what else for me remains 

But tales of woe? 
And frae my een the drapping raius 

Maun ever flow. 

Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the year \ 
Dk cowslip cup shall kep ^ a tear : 
Thou, Simmer, while each cornj^ R]3ear 

Shoots up its head, 
Thy gay, green, flowery tresses siiear 

For him that's dead ! 

Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, 
Jn grief thy sallow mantle tear ! 
Thou, Winter, hurling through the air 

The roaring blast, 
Wide o'er the naked world declare 

The woi"th we 've lost ! 

Mourn him, thou Sun, great source of light I 
Mourn, empress of the silent night ! 
And you, ye twinkling starnies bright, 

My Matthew mourn ! 
For through your orbs he 's la'en his flight, 

Ne'er to return. 

O Henderson ! the man — the brother ! 
And art thou gone, and gone for ever ? 
And hast thou crossed that unknown river» 

Life's dreary bound? 
Lilce thee, where shall I find another 

The world around ! 

Go to yonr sculptured tombs, ye great, 
In a' the tinsel tiash o' state i 
But by thy honest tnrf I'll wait. 

Thou man of worth! 
And weep tlie ae best fellow's fate 

E'er Ir.y in earth. 

* Owls. 2 Catch. 






120 



THE EPITAPH. 



Stop, passenger ! — my story's brie^ 
And trntli I shall relate, man; 

I tell nae common tale o' grief — 
For Matthew was a great man. 

If thou uncommon merit hast, 

Yet spurned at Fortune's door, maQ^ 

A look of pity hither cast — 
For Matthew was a poor man. 

If thou a noble sodeer art. 

That passest by this grave, man, 

There moulders here a gallant heart—- 
For Matthew was a brave man. 

If thou on men, their works and ways. 
Canst throw uncommon light, man. 

Here lies wha weel had won thy praisQ"-=« 
For Matthew was a bright man. 

If thou at friendship's sacred ca* 

Wad life itself resign, man. 
The sympathetic tear maun fa' — 

For Matthew was a kin' man ! 

If thou art staunch without a stain, 
Like the unchanging blue, man. 

This vvns a kinsman o' thy ain — 
For Matthew was a true man. 

If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire, 
And ne'er guid wine did fear, man. 

This was thy billie, dam, and sire— 
For Matthew was a queer man. 

If ony whiggish whingin' sot. 

To blame poor Matthew dare. raaSg 

May dool and sorrow be his lot! — 
For Matthew was a rare maa. 



121 
TAM 0' SHANTER. 

A TALE. ' 

•* Of Brownyis and of Bogilis full is tliis Buke." 

■«A\viN DouatAS. 

When chapman billies '^ leave the street, 
And (Irouthy^ necbors neebovs meet, 
As auirket-days are wearing late, 
An' tolk begin to tuk' the gate ; * 
While we sit bousing at the nappy,* 
Aa' gutting fou and nnco happy, 
"We think na on the lang Scots miles, 
The mosses, waters, slaps,^ and stiles, 
That lie between ns and our hanie, 
Whare sits our sulky, sullen dume, 
Gathering her brows like gathering storm, 
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 

This tnith fand honest Tam o' Shanter, 
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter, 
(Anld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses. 
For honest men and bonny lasses.) 

' Gilbert Riirns gives the following account of the origin of this poem, the 
Biost populi'.-i'f tlie roft's works: — " Wlien my father feued his little i-iro- 
perty near Alloway Kiik, the wall of the churchward had gone to ruin, 
and cattle had free liberty of pasture in it. My fether and two or three 
neighbours joined in an application to the town council of Ayr, who were 
supia-iors of the adjoining land, for liberty to rebuild it, and raised by 
subscription a sum for enclosing this ancient cemetery with a wall: lience 
he came to consider it as his burial-place, and we learned that reverence 
for it people generally have for the l.urial-place of their ancestors My 
brother was living in Ellisland, when Captain Grose, on liis peregii- 
nations through Scotland, stayed some time at Cat£e House, in the neigh- 
bouihood, with Captain Robert Riddel, of Glenriddel, a paiticular friend 
of niy brother's. Tlie antiquary and the Poet were ' unco pai k and thick 
thegither.' Robert requested of Captain Grose, when he should come to 
Ayrshire, that he would make a dn wing cf Alloway Kirk, as it was the 
buiial-place of Ids father, where he himself had a sort of claim to lay 
down his bones when they should be no longer serviceable to him; and 
added, by way of encouragement, that it was the scene of many u good 
story of witches and apparitions, of which he knew the Captain was very 
fond. The Captain agreed to the request, provided the Poet would fiuiush 
a witch-story, to be printed along with it. ' Tain o' Shanter ' was produced 
on this occasion, and was first published in ' Grose's Antiquities oi: Scot- 
land.' " 

'- Fellows. 3 Thirsty. * Road. 

* Ale. ' Gates or openings tlirough a hedge. 



Ej 



_J 



1-22 TAM 0' SlIANTEIt 

Tam ! hadst thou but been sae wise, 

As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice ! 

She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,* 

A blethering, '•* blustering, drunken blellum,^ 

That frae November till October, 

Ae market-day thou was nae sober; 

That ilka melder,'' wi' the miller, 

Thou sat as laug as thou had siller ; 

That every naig was ca'd a shoe on,* 

The smith and thee gat roaring fou on; 

That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday, 

Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean ^ till Monday, 

She prophesied that, late or soon. 

Thou would be found deep drowned in Doon; 

Or catched wi' warlocks in the mirk, 

By AUoway's auld haunted kirk. 

Ah, gentle dames ! it gars ' me greet, 
To think how mony counsels sweet, 
How many lengthened sage advices, 
The husband frae the wife despises ! 

But to our tale : Ae market-night, 
Tam had got planted unco right ; 
Fast by an ingle,^ bleezing finely, 
AVi' reaming swats," that drank divinely j 
And at his elbow, Souter '" Johnny, 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy " crony; 
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither ; 
They had been fou for weeks thegither. 
The night drave on wi' sangs an' clatter; 
And aye the ale was growing better: 
The landlady and Tam grew graciou!-, 
Wi' favours, secret, sweet, and precious : 
The Souter tauld his queerest stories ; 
The landlord's laugh was readv chorus : 
The storm without might rair '^ and rustlft, 
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle. 

* Good-for-nothing fellow. '■' Nonsensical. 
' Cliatteiiiig fellow. 

* Grain sent to the mill to lie ground; i.e., that every time he carried 
the corn to the mill he sat to drink with the miller. 

* Nag that required shoeing. 

* Jean Kennedy, a public-house keei^er at Kirkoswald. The village 
where the parish church stands is called Kirkton, or Kirk (Church) tcwn, 
in Scotland. 

' Makes me weep. * Fire. * Foaming ale. 

*• ahoeinaker. " Thirsty. " £.oar. 



fL 




Tam had got planted unco right, 
Fast by an ingle, bleezinp finely, 



And at his elbow, Souter Johnny, 

His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony. — p. 122. 



Cli 



TAM 0' SHANTER. 123 

Care, mad to see a man sae happy, 
E'en drowned himself araaug the nappy ; 
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure. 
The minutes winged their way wi' pleasure; 
Kings may be blest, but Tarn was glorious. 
O'er a' the ills o' hie victorious ! 

But pleasures are like poppies spread. 

You seize the flower, its bloom is shed? 

Or like the snow-fall in the river, 

A moment white — then melts for ever; 

Or like the boreahs race. 

That flit ere you can point their place; 

Or like the rambow's lovely form 

Evanishing amid the storm. 

Nae man can tether time or tide ; 
The hour approaches Tam maun ride ; 
That hour, o' night's black arch the keystane, 
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in ; 
And sic a night he tak's the road in, 
As ne'er poor sinner was abi'oad in. 
The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; 
The rattlin' showers rose on the blast : 
The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed; 
Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellowed; 
That night, a child might understand, 
The de'il had business on his hand. 

Weel mounted on his grey mare, Meg, 
(A better never lifted leg,) 
Tam skelpit ' on through dub and mire, 
Despising wind, and rain, and fire ; 
"Whiles holding fast his guid blue bonnet ; 
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet; 
Whiles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares. 
Lest bogles^ catch him unawares; 
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh, 
Whare ghaists and houlets ^ nightly cry. 

By this time he was cross the ford, 
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoored;* 
And past the birks and meikle stane, 
Whare drunken Charlie brak 's neck-bane; 
And through the whins, and by the cairn, 
Whare hunters fand the miirdered bairn; 

' Role ciirelessly. * Ghosts, bogies. ^ Owls. 

* Was smothered. 



LrJ 



124 TAM 0' SHANTER. 

And near the thorn, aboon the well, 

Whare Miins'o'y mither hanged hersel'. 

Before limi Doon pours all his floods; 

The doubling storm roars through the woods ! 

The lightnings flash from pole to pole; 

Near and more near the thunders roll ; 

When, glimmering through the groaning trees, 

Kirk- AUoway seemed iu a blee/e ; 

Through ilka bore ' the beams were glancing ; 

And loud resounded mirth and dancing. 

Inspiring, bold John Barleycorn ! 

What dangers thou canst mak' us scorn ! 

Wi' tippenny ^ we fear nae evil ; 

Wi' usquabae we '11 face the devil ! 

The swats ^ sae reamed^ in Tammie's noddle, 

Fair play, he cared na de'ils a boddle.* 

But Maggie stood right sair astonished, 

Till, by the heel and hand admonished, 

She ventured forward on the light ; 

And, wow ! Tam saw an unco sight ! 

Warlocks and witches in a dance ; 

Nae cotillion brent new frae France, 

But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, 

Put life and mettle in their heels. 

At winnock-bunker ® in the east, 

There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast; 

A towzie tyke,'' black, grim, and large, 

To gi'e them music was his charge : 

He screwed the pipes and gart them skirl,^ 

Till roof and rafters a' did dirl!^ 

Coffins stood round, like open presses, 

That shawed the dead in their last dresses; 

And by some devilish cantrip '° slight, 

Each in its cauld hand held a hght, 

By which heroic Tam was able 

To note upon the haly table, 

A murderer's banes in gibbet aims ;" 

Twa span-Ian g, wee unchristened bairns; 

A thief new-cutted frae a rape, 

Wi' his last gasp his gab '^ did gape : 

Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red-rusted; 

Five scimitars wi' murder crusted ; 

^ Crevice, or hole. " Twopenny ale. ' Drink. 

* Frothed, mounted, * A sn)all old coin. ^ Window- 

' Shaggy dog. ® Made them scream. ® Sli ike. 

» Spell. " Irons. '^ Mouth, 



P 



m 



TAM 0' SHANTER. 126 

A garter, which a babe had strangled ; 
A knife, a father's throat had mangled. 
Whom his ain son o' hfe bereft, 
The grey hairs yet stack to the heft; 
Yvi' mair o' horrible and awfu', 
Which ev'n to name wad be imlawfu'. 

As Tammie glowred," amazed and ciiriotia, . 

The mirth and fun grew fast and furious : 

The piper loud and loiider blew ; 

The dancers quick and quicker fiew ; 

They reeled, they set, they crossed, they cleelcit',^ 

Till ilka carlin ^ swat and reekit,* 

And coost * her daddies * to the wark, 

And linket ^ at it in her sark ! * 

Now Tam, Tam ! had they been queans 
A' plum]! and strapping, in their teens ; 
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen,^ 
Been snaw-white seventeen huuder linen }'^ 
Thir breeks" o' iiiine, my only pair, 
That ance were i:ilush, o' guid blue hair, 
I wad hae gi'en them off my hurdles, 
For ane blink o' the bonnie burdies ! 

But withered beldams old and droll, 
Kigwoodie ''^ hags wad spean '^ a foal, 
Lowping and flinging on a crummock,'* 
I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 

But Tam kenned what was what fu' brawHe; 
" There was ae winsome wench and walie,"'^ 
That night inlisted in the core, 
(Lang after kenned on Cnrrick shore ! 
For mony a beast to dead she shot, 
And perished mony a bonnie boat, 
And shook baith meiklc corn and Ijear,'* 
And kept the country-side in fear,) 
Her cutty sai-k,'^ o' Paisley harn,"* 
That while a lassie she had worn, 

^ Staved. ' Caught hold of each other. 

3 Old hag. * Keeked with heat. ^ Cast of?. 

® Clothes. * Tripped. * Chemise. 

* Grea?y flannel. 

'• Mumilacturers' term for linen woven in a reed of 1700 divisioaa, 
" Breeches. '^ Gallows-woithy. '■' Wean. 

'■' A crutch — a stick with a crook. 
'* Quoted from Allan Ramsay. 
'* Barley. " Short, shift or shirt. "■ Very coarse linea. 



n' 



126 TAM 0' SHANTER. 

In longitude though sorely scanty, 
It was her best, and she was vauntie.'* 
Ah ! little kenned thy reverend grannie, 
That sark she coft* for her wee Nannie, 
Wi' twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches,) 
Wad ever graced a dance of witches ! 

But here my muse her wing maun conr;^ 
Sic flights are far beyond her power : 
To sing how Nannie lap and flang, 
(A souple jade she was and strang,) 
And how Tarn stood, like ane bewitched. 
And thought his very een enriched ; 
Even Satan glowred, and fidged fu' fain, 
And hotched and blew wi' might and main; 
Till first ae caper, syne anither, 
Tim tmts ■• his reason a'thegither, 
And roars out, " Weel done. Cutty-sarkl" 
And in ^n instant all was dark : 
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 
When out the hellish legion sallied 

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,' 

When plundering herds assail their byke;* 

As open pussie's mortal foes 

When, pop ! she starts before their nose; 

As eager runs the market-crowd, 

When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud; 

So Maggie runs, the witches follow, 

Wi' mony an eldritch' screech and hollow. 

Ah, Tarn ! ah, Tam ! thou '11 get thy fairin' I 
In hell they '11 roast thee like a herrin' 1 
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin' ! 
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman ! 
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
And win the key-stane ^ of the brig ; 
There at them thou thy tail may toss, 
A running stream they dare na cross. 
But ere the key-stan she could make. 
The fient a tail she had to shake ! 

' Proud, "^ Bought. ' Cower— sink. 

* Loses. * Fuss. ' Hive. 
^ Unearthly. 

* It is a well-known fact, that witches, or any evil spirits, have no 
power to follow a poor wight any fartlier than the middle of tl!e next 
running stream. It may be proper likewise to mention to the benighted 
traveller, that when he falls in with bogles, whatever danger may be in 
his going forward, there is much more hazard in turning back. — Bdrns. 



il! "^ 



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J' 



ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOm CHILD. 127 

For Nannie, far before the rest, 
Hard vl])o\\ noble Maggie j^rest, 
And flew at Tarn wi' lurious ettle ; 
But little wist she Maggie's mettle — 
Ae spring brought off her master hale, 
But left behind her aiu grey tail : 
The carlin claught her by the rump, 
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump ! 

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read. 
Ilk man and mother's son, take heed : 
Whene'er to drink jou are inclined. 
Or cutty sarks run in your mind, 
Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear, 
Eemember Tam o' Shanter's mare. 



ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD,' 

BOBN UNDER PECtTLIAR CIRCUMSTANCES OF FAKILY DISTRESS. 

Sweet Floweret, pledge o' meikle love. 

And ward o' mony a prayer, 
What heart o' stane wad thou na movG^ 

Sae helpless, sweet, and fair ! 

November hirples ' o'er the lea, 

Chill on thy lovely form ; 
And gane, alas ! the sheltering tree 

Should shield thee frae the storm. 

May He who gives the rain to pour. 

And wings the blast to blaw, 
Protect thee frae the driving shower. 
The bitter frost and snaw ! 

May He, the Friend of woe and want. 

Who heals life's various stounds,* 
Protect and guard the mother plant. 

And heal her cruel wounds ! 

But late she flourished, rooted fast. 

Fair on the summer morn; 
Now feebly bends she in the blast. 

Unsheltered and forlorn : 

' Effort. * The grandchild of the Poet's fnend, Mrs. Dunlopt 

• Creeps, * Pangs. 



a 



128 ELEGY ON MISS BURNET. 

Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem. 

Unscathed by ruffian hand ! 
And from thee msmj a parent stem 
Arise to deck our land I 



ELEGY ON MISS BURNET, OP MONBODDQ.^ 

LiPE ne'er exulted in so rich a prize 

As Burnet, lovely from her native skies ; 

Nor envious Death so triumphed in a blow, 

As that which laid th' accomplished Burnet low. 

Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget ? 

In richest ore the brightest jewel set ! 

In thee, high Heaven above was truest shown, 

As by His noblest work the Godhead best is known. 

In vain ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves v 
Thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery sliore; 

Te woodland choir that chant your idle loves, 
Ye cease to charm — Eliza is no more ! 

Ye heathy wastes, immixed with reedy fens ; 

Ye mossy streams, with sedge and rushes sfc';;yed; 
Ye rugged cliffs, o'erliauging dreary glens. 
To you I fly, ye with my soul accord. 

Princes, whose cumbrous pride was all their wortli, 
Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail? 

And thou, sweet excellence ! forsake our earth. 
And not a Muse in honest grief bewail? 

We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride, 
And virtue's light, that beams beyond the spheres; 

But, like the sun eclipsed at morning tide. 
Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tears. 



The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee. 
That heart how sunk, a prey to grief and care I 

So deckt the woodbine sweet yon aged tree ; 
So from it ravi.shed, leaves it bleak and bare. 

' The daughter of Lord Monboddo. 



ri 



TI 



129 



LAMENT OF MAET, QUEEK OF SCOTS, ON THE 
APPEOACH OF SPEING. 

'No'W Nature hanjjs her mantle green 

On every blooming tree. 
And spreads lier sheets o' daisies white 

Out o'er the grassy lea : 
Now Plicebus cheers the crystal streams, 

And glads the azure skies; 
But nought can glad the wearied \vi;jht 

That fast in durance lies. 

Now lav'roclcs wake the merry mom* 

Aloft on dewy wing; 
The merle, in his noontide bower, 

Makes woodland echoes ring; 
The mavis mild, wi' many a note. 

Sings drowsy day to rest : 
In love and freedom they rejoice, 

Wi' care nor thrall opprest. 

Now blooms the lily by the bank. 

The primrose down the brae; 
The hawthorn's budding in the glen. 

And milk-white is the slae : 
The meanest hind in fair Scotland 

May rove their sweets amang ; 
But I, the Queen of a' Scotland, 

Maun lie in j)rison Strang. 

I was the Queen o' bonnie France, 

Where happy I ha'e been ; 
Fu' lightly raise I in the morn, 

As blithe lay down at e'en : 
And I'm the sovereign of Scotland, 

And mony a traitor there : 
Yet here I lie in foreign bands. 

And never-ending care. 

But as for thee, thou false woman. 

My sister and my fae, 
Grim vengeance yet shall whet a sword 

That through thy soul shnll gae : 
The weeping blood in woman's breast 

Was never known to thee ; 
Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of W09 

Frae woman's pitying e'e. 



c 



Jp 



130 LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF QLENCAIRN. 

My son ! my son ! may kinder stars 

Upon thy fortune shine; 
And may those pleasures gild thy Kfign 
•^ That ne'er wad blink on mine ! 

God keep thee frae thy mother's faes, 

Or turn their hearts to thee : 
And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend 

Eemember him for me ! 

! soon, to me, may summer siins 

Nae mair light up the morn ! * 

ITae mair, to me, the autumn winds 

Wave o'er the yellow corn ! 
And ra the narrow house o' death 

Let winter round me rave ; 
And the next flowers that deck the spring 

Bloom on my peaceful grave ! 



LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIR'N. 

The wind blew hollow frae the hills, 

By fits the sun's departing beam 
Looked on the fading yellow woods 

That waved o'er Lugar's winding stream t 
Beneath a craigy steep, a bard, 

Laden with years and meikle pain, 
In loud lament bewailed his lord, 

Whom death had all untimely ta'en. 

He leaned him to an ancient aik, 

Whose trunk was mould'ring down with years; 
His locks were bleached white wi' time. 

His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears ! 
And as he touched his trembling harp. 

And as he tuned his doleful sang, 
The winds, lamenting through their caves, 

To echo bore the notes alang. 

''Ye scattered birds that faintly sing, 

The reliques of the vernal quire ! 
Ye woods that shed on a' the winds 

The honours of the aged year ! 
A few short months, and glad and gay. 

Again ye '11 charm the ear and e'e; 
But nocht in all revolving time 

Can gladness bring again to me. 



ri 



LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN. 131 

" I am a bending, aged tree, 

That long has stood the wind and rain; 
But now has come a cruel blast, 

And my last hald of earth is gane : 
Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring, 

Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom; 
But I maun Ue before the storm, 

And ithers j)lant them in my room. 

*' I 've seen sae mony changefu' years. 

On earth I am a stranger grown; 
I wander in the ways of men. 

Alike unknowing and unknown : 
Unheard, uupitied, unrelieved, 

I bear alane my lade o' care, 
For silent, low, on beds of dust, 

Lie a' that would my sorrows share. 

** And last, (the sum of a' my griefs ! ) 

My noble master lies in clay ; 
The flower amang our barons bold, 

His country's pride, his country's stRy; 
In weary being now I pine, 

For a' the life of life is dead. 
And hope has left my aged ken. 

On forward wing for ever tied. 

** Awake thy last sad voice, my harp ! 

The voice of woe and wild despair! 
Awake, resound thy latest lay, 

Then sleep in silence evermair ! 
And thou, my last, best, onl}'^ friend, 

That fiUest an untimely tomb. 
Accept this tribute from the Bard 

Thou brought from fortune's mirkest gloom. 

•* In poverty's low barren vale. 

Thick mists, obscure, involved me round 
Though oft I turned the wistful eye, 

Nae ray of fame was to be found : 
Thou found'st me, like the moruing sun 

That melts the fogs in Umpid air. 
The friendless Bard and rustic song, 

Became alike thy fostering care. 

" Oh, why has worth so short a date ? 
"While villains ripen grey with time ! 
Must thoTi, the noble, generous, great. 
Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime! 



fl 



132 TO SIR JOHN WHITEFOORD. 

Why did I live to see tliat day P 
A day to me so full of woe ! 

Oil, had I met the mortal shaft 
Wliich laid my benefactor low I 

*' The bridegroom may forget the bride 

Was made his wedded wife yestreen; 
The monarch may forget the crown 

That on his head an hour has been; 
The mother may forget the child 

That smiles sae sweetly on her knee; 
But 1 '11 remember thee, Glencairn, 

And a" that thou hast done for me ! " 



LINES 

SBNT TO SIR JOHN WHITEFOORD, OF WniTEFOOKD, BART,, VS^ITH 
THE FOREGOING POEM. 

Triotr, who thy honour as thy God rever'st, 

Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought earthly fear'st. 

To thee this votive ollering I impart. 

The tearful tribute of a broken heart. 

The friend thou valuedst, I the patron loved ; 

His worth, his honour, all the world approved ; 

We'll mourn till we, too, go as he has gone, 

And tread the dreary path to that dark world unknown. 



ADDEESS TO THE SHADE OF THOMSOl^, 

ON CROWNING HIS BUST AT EDNAM, ROXBURGHSHIRE, WITH BATC 

While virgin Spring, by Eden's flood. 

Unfolds her tender mantle green, 
Or pranks the sod in frolic mood, 

Or tunes Eolian strains between : 

While Summer, with a matron grace. 

Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade. 
Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace 

The progress of the spiky blade : 

While Autumn, benefactor kind, 

By Tweed erects his aged head, 
And sees, with self- approving mind. 

Each creature on his bomity fed: 



_r 



p 



TF 



TO JOHN MAXWELL. 

While maniac Winter rages o'er 

The hills whence classic Yarrow flo^vs. 

Rousing the turbid torrent's roar, 

Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows : 

So long, sweet Poet of the year. 

Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won: 
While Scotia, with exulting tear, 

Proclaims that Thomson was her son. 



YEESES 

TO JOim MAXWELL, OF TEKRATJGHTY, ON IIIS BIKTIIDAY.' 

Health to the Maxwells' veteran chief ! 
Health, aye unsoured by care or grief: 
Inspired, I turned Fate's sybil leaf 

This natal morn ; 
I see thy life is stuff' o' prief,'-^ 

Scarce quite half worn. 

This day thou metes threescore eleven, 
And I can tell that bounteous Heaven 
(The second sight, ye ken is given 

Toilka^poL't) 
On thee a tack o' seven times seven 

Will yet bestow it. 

If envious buckies * view wi' sorrow 

Thy lengthened days on this blest morrow. 

May Desolation's lang- teethed harrow, 

Nine miles an hour. 
Rake them, like Sodom and Gomorrah, 

In brunstane stourc ! * 

But for thy friends, and they are mony, 
Baith honest men and lasses bonny, 
May couthie^ Portxine, kind and canny. 

In social glee, 
Wi' mornings blithe and evenings funny. 

Bless them and thee ! 

' Mr. Maxwell was grandson's grandson to Lord Herries, the faithful anu 
jevoted adherent of IMary, Queen of Scots. On bis knees Lord Herriea 
entreated the unbapi^y Queen to prosecute Botliwell for tiie murder of 
Daroley. He afterwards fouglit for her at the battle of Langside. 

" Proof. "* Every. * Bucks. 

• Dust. * Lovirg. 



l;i4 ON SENSIBILITY, 

Fareweel, auld Lirkie ! ' Lord be near j9t 
And tlien the de'il he daurna steev ye : 
Your friends aye love, your faes aye fear ye; 

For me, shame fa' me, 
If neist my heart I dinna wear ye, 

While Burns they ca' me 1 



OIT SENSIBILITY. 

Sensibility, how charming. 
Thou, my friend, canst truly teU; 

But distress with hori'ors arming, 
Thou hast also known too well I 

Fairest flower, behold the lily, 
Blooming in the sunny ray : 

Let the blast sweep o'er the valley. 
See it prostrate on the clay. 

Hear tlie woodlark charm the forest. 

Telling o'er his little joys : 
Hapless bird ! a prey the surest, 

To each pirate of the skies. 

Dearly bought the hidden treasure, 

Finer feelings can bestow ; 
Chords that vibrate sweetest j^leasiire^ 

Thrill the deepest notes of woe. 



THE EIGHTS OF WOMAIT. 

AN OCCASIONAL ADDHESS SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLE ON IIEf 
BENEriT NIGHT. 

"While Europe's eye is fixed on mighty things. 
The fate of empires and the fall of kings ; 
"While quacks of state must each produce his plan. 
And even children lisp the Bights of Man; 
Amid this mighty fuss, just let me mention, 
The Rights of Woman merit some attention. 

First, in the sexes' intermixed connexion, 
One sacred Right of Woman is Protection. 
The tender flower that lifts its head, elate, 
Helpless, must fall before the blasts of fate. 
Sunk on the earth, defaced its lovely foim. 
Unless your shelter ward th' impending stomiu 

' Jolly old fellow. 



m 



ON SEEING MLS!S FONTENELLE, 135 

Our second Right— but needless here — is Caution; 

To keep that right inviolate's the fashion, 

Each man of sense has it so full before him, 

He 'd died before he 'd wrong it — 'tis decorum. 

There was, indeed, iu far Jess polished days. 

A time when rough rude man had naughty ways; 

"Would swagger, swear, get drunk, kick up a riot, 

"^ay, even thus, invade a lady's quiet. 

Kow, thank our stars! these Gothic times are fled} 

Now, well-bred men — and you are all well-bred — • 

Most justly think (and we are much the gainers) 

Such conduct neither spirit, wit, nor manners.^ 

For Right the third, our last, our best, our dearest. 
That right to flutterin y female hearts the nearest. 
Which even the Rights of Kings in low prostration 
Most humbly own — 'tis dear, dear Admiration I 
In that blest sphere alone we live and move ; 
There taste that life of life — immortal Love. 
Smiles, glances, sighs, tears, fits, flirtations, airs, 
'Gainst such an host what flinty savage dares — 
Yv'hen awful Beauty joins with all her charms. 
Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms ? 

But truce with kings, and truee with constitutiona. 
With liloody armaments and revolutions; 
Let Majesty your first attention summon. 
Ah! 9aira! the Majksiy of WomanI 



ON SEEINa MISS FONTENELLE m A FAVOURITE 
CHARACTER. 

Sweet naivete of feature, 

Simple, wild, enchanting elf, 
iTot to thee, but thanks to Nature^ 

Thou art acting but thyself 

Wert thou awkward, stiff, affected. 
Spurning nature, torturing art ; 

Loves and graces ail rejected. 

Then indeed thou 'dst act a part. . 

' Ironical allusion to the saturnalia of the Caledonian Hunt. 



IT?' ir 



136 



TO A YOUNG LADY (MISS JESSIE liEWARS. 
DUMFRIES), 

WITH BOOK WniCH THE BAUD PRESENTED TO HEIU 

TniNE be the volximes, Jessy fair, 
And witli them take the Poet's prayer ; 
That Fate may in her fairest page, 
With every kindliest, best presage. 
Of future bhss enrol thy name : 
With native worth, and spotless fame^ 
A lid -wakeful caution still aware 
(j. ill — but chief, man's felon snare; 
All blameless joys on earth we find. 
And all the treasures of the mind — 
These be thy guardian and reward ; 
So prays thy faithful friend, the Bard. 



SONNET, 

WKITTEN ON THE 25tH JANUAKY, 1793, THE BIHTHDAT OP THB 
AUTHOR, ON HEARING A THRUSH SING IN A MORNING WALK. 

Sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough. 
Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy strain; 
See aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign. 

At thy bhthe carol clears his furrowed brow. 

So in lone Poverty's dominion drear, 

Sits meek Content, with light Tinanxious heart. 
Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part. 

Nor asks if they bring ought to hope or fear. 

I thank thee, Author of this opening day ! 

Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient skies 1 
Riches denied. Thy boon was purer joys. 

What wealth could never give nor take away ! 

Yet come, thou child of poverty and care! 
The mite high Heaven bestowed, that mite with thee 
T-'U share. 



137 



SONNET 

our THE DEATH OE KOBERT EIDDEL, ESQ., OF GLENRTDDEU 

No more, ye warblers of tlie wood, no more ! 
Nor pour your descant, grating, on my soul : 
Thou young-eyed Spring, gay in thy verdant stole- 
More welcome were to me grim Winter's wildest roar. 

How can ye charm, ye flowers, with all your dyes ? 

Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my Iriend ! 

How can I to the tuneful strain attend P 
That strain flows round the untimely tomb where Biddd 
lies ! 

Yes, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes of woe ! 
And soothe the Virtues weeping o'er his bier : 
The Man of Worth, who has not left his peer, 

Is in his narrow house, for ever darkly low. 

Thee, Spring, again with joy shall others greel^ 
Me, mem'ry of my loss will only meet. 



ON PASTORAL POETRY. 

Hail, Poesie ! thou nymph reserved ! 

In chase o' thee, what crowds hae swerved 

Frae common sense, or sunk enerved 

'J\lang heaps o' clavers l> 
And och I o'er aft thy joes"'* ha'e starved, 

Mid &' thy favours 1 

Say, Lassie, why thy train amang. 
While loud the trump's heroic clang. 
And sock or buskin skelp alang 

To death or marriage; 
Scarce ane has tried the shepherd-sang. 

But wi' miscarriage P 

In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives ; 
^schylus' pen Will Shakespeare drives; 
Wee Pope, the knurlin.^ till him rives 

Horatian fame ; 
In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives 

Ev'n Sappho's flame. 

* Nonsense. * Lovers. ^ Dwar£ 



n 



138 ON PASTORAL POETRY. 

But thee, Theocritus, wha matches ? 
They 're no herd's ballats, Maro's catches ; 
Squire Pope hut busks his skinklin' patches 

O' heathen tatters : 
I pass by hunders, nameless wretches, 

That ape their betters. 

In this braw age o' wit and learj 
Will nane the Shepherd's whistle mair 
Blaw sweetly in its native air 

And rural grace; 
And, wi' the far-famed Grecian, share 

A rival place ? 

Yes ! there is ane; a Scottish callan ! 
There's ane: come fomt, honest Allan!® 
Thou need na jouk^ behint the hallan,'* 

A chiel sae clever ; 
The teeth o* Time may gnav/ Tantallan, 

But thou's for ever. 

Thou paints auld ITature to the nines,® 

In thy sweet Caledonian lines ; 

ITae gowden stream through myrtles twinee. 

Where Philomel, 
While nightly breezes sweep the vines, 

Her griefs will tell I 

In gowany " glens thy bumie strays, 
Where bonnie lasses bleach their claes : 
Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes, 

Wi' hawthorns gray. 
Where blackbirds join the shepherd's laya 

At close o' day. 

Thy rural loves are ITature's sel' ; 

Nae bombast spates ' o' nonsense swell ; 

Nae snap conceits, but that sweet spell 

0' witchin' love, 
That charm that can the strongest quell. 

The sternest move. 



» Small. 

' Allan Ramsay, author of tlie " Gentle Shepherd." ^ Hide. 

* A partition-will in a cottage, or a seat of turf outside it. 

• Exactly. * Daisied. ' Bursta* 



m 



139 



POEM ON LIFE. 

ADDBESSED TO COLONEL DE PEYSTEK, DUMFRIES, 1796, 

My honoured Colonel, deep I feel 
Your interest in the Poet's weal ; 
Ah ! now sma' heart hae I to S2:)eel 

The steep Parnassus, 
Surrounded thus b}^ bohis pill 

And potion glasses. 

Oh, what a canty warld w^ere it, 

Would paiu and care, and sickness spare it; 

And fortune favour worth and merit 

As they deserve ! 
(And aye a rowth, roast beef and claret; 

Syne wha wad starve P ) 

Dame Life, though fiction out may triclc her. 
And in paste gems and frippery deck her; 
Oh ! flickering, feeble, and unsicker 

I've found her still. 
Aye wavering, like the willow- wicker, 

'Tween good and ill. 

Then that cursed carmagnole, auld Satan, 
Watches, like baudrans by a rattan, 
Our sinfu' saul to get a claut on 

Wi' felon ire ; 
Syne, whip ! his tail ye'll ne'er cast saut on, 

He's off like fire. 

Ah, Nick ! ah, Nick ! it is na fair, 
First showing us the tempting ware. 
Bright wines and bonnie lasses rare, 

To put us daft ; 
Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare 

C bell's damned waft. 

Poor man, the fly, aft bizzes by. 

And aft as chance he comes thee nigh. 

Thy auld damned elbow yeuks wi' joy 

And hellish pleasure; 
Already in thy fancy's eye, 

Thy sicker treasure. 

Soon heels o'er gowdie ! in he gangs. 
And like a sheep-head on a tangs, 



ffr^ 



140 A VISION. 

Thy girning latigli enjoys his pangs 

And murdering wrestle^ 

As dangling in the wind he hangs 
A gibbet's tassel. 

But lest you think I am uncivil, 

To plague you with this drauntiag drivel. 

Abjuring a' intentions evil, 

I quat my pen : 
The Lord preserve us frae the devil i 

Amen ' amen ! 



A YISIOK> 

As I stood by yon roofless tower, 

Wliere the wa'-flower scents the dewy air. 

Where the howlet monrns in her ivy bower. 
And tells the midnight moon her care. 

The winds were laid, the air was still, 

The stars they shot alang the sky ; 
The fox was howling on the hill, 

And the distant echoing glens reply. 

The stream, adown its hazelly path, 

Was rushing by the ruined wa's, 
Hasting to join the sweej)ing Nith, 

Whase distant roaring swells and fa*3. 

The canld blue north was streaming forth 

Her lights, wi' hissing eerie din, 
Athort the lift they start and shift. 

Like fortune's favours, tint as win.' 

• By heedless chance I turned mine eyes, 
And by the moonbeam, fihook to see 
A stern and stalwart ghaist arise, 
Attired as minstrels wont to be. 

Had I a statue been o' stane. 

His darin' look had daunted me ; 
And on his boimet graved was plain. 

The sacred posie — Libertie ! 

' This is the second poem suggested by the ruins of lincluden Abbey, 

• Lost as soon as won. 

• Variation : Now looking over firth and fauld, 

Her born the pale-faced Scynthia reared; 
Wben, lo, in form of minstrel auld, 
A stem and stalwart ghaist appeared. 



._.IIL 



TAM SAMSON'S ELEGY. 141 

And frae his harp sic strains did flow, 

Might roused the slumbering dead to hearj 

But oh, it was a tale of woe, 
As ever met a Briton's ear ! 

He sang wi' joy the former day, 

He weeping wailed his latter times-, 
But what he said it was nae play, 

I winna ventur 't in my rhymes.* 



TAM SAMSON'S ELEGT.» 

" An honest man 's the noblest work of God." — Pops. 

Has auld Kilmarnock seen the de'il ? 
Or great Mackinlay ^ thrawn * his heel ? 
Or Kobinson* again grown weel, 

To preach and read? 
" Na, waur than a' ! " cries ilka chiel, 

" Tam Samson's dead ! " 

Kilmarnock lang may grunt and grane. 
And sigh, and sob, and greet ® her lane, 

' This poem, an imperfect copy of -which was printed in "Johnson's 
Museum," is here given from the Poet's MS. with his last corrections. The 
scenery so finely describe! i? taken from nature. The Poet is supposed to 
be musing by night on the banks of the river Cluden, or Clouden, and 
by the ruins of Lincluden Abbey, founded in the twelfth century, in the 
reign of Malcolm IV., of wliose present situation the reader may find 
some account in Pennant's " Tour in Scotland," or Grose's Antiquities of 
that division of the island. Such a time and such a place are well fitted for 
holding converse with aerial beings. Though this poem has a political 
bias, yet it may be presumed that no reader of taste, whatever his 
opinions may be, would forgive its being omitted. Our Poet's prudence 
suppressed the song of " Libertie," perhaps fortunately for his reputation. 
It may be questioned whether, even in the resources of his genius, a strain 
of poetry could have been found worthy of the grandeur and solemnity 
of this preparation. — Currie. 

- When this worthy old sportsman went out last muirfowl season, he 
supposed it was to be, in Ossian's phrase, "the last of his fields ;" and 
expressed an ardent wish to die and be buried in the muirs. On this 
hint the Author composed his elegy and epitaph. — Burns. 

^ A certain preacher, a great favourite with the million. Vide " The 
Ordination," stanza ii. — Burns. 

^ Twisted. 

* Another preacher, an equal favourite witli the few, who was at that 
time ailing. For him, see also " The Ordination," istanza ix.- -Burns. 

® Cry alone. 



142 TAM SAMSON'S ELEGT. 

And deed ' her bairns, man, wife, and weas. 
In mourning weed ; 

To Deatli she 's dearly paid the kane "■* — • 
Tam Samson's dead ! 

The brethren o' the mystic level 
May hing their head in waefu' bevel, 
While by their nose the tears will revel 

Like ony bead; 
Death's gi'en the lodge an unco devel ^— 

Tam Samson's dead! 

When Winter mnfSes up his cloak, 
And binds the mire up like a rock; 
When to the lochs the curlers flock 

Wi' gleesome speed, 
Wha will they station at the cock ? — 

Tam Samson's dead! 

He was the king o' a' the core. 
To guard, or draw, or wick a bore; 
Or up the rink like Jehu roar 

In time o' need ; 
But now he lags on Death's hog-score — • 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

Now safe the stately salmon sail, 

And trouts be-dropped wi' crimson hail, 

And eels weel kenned for sou pie tail. 

And geds ■* for greed, 
Since dai'k in Death's fish-creel we wail 

Tam Samson dead ! 

Eejoice, ye birring paitricks ^ a' ; 

Ye cootie* moorcocks, crousely' craw; 

Ye mawkins,^ cock your fud fu' braw, 

Withouten dread; 
Your mortal fae is now awa' — 

Tam Samson's dead I 

That waefu' morn be ever mourned 
Saw him in shootin' graith ^ adorned, 
While pointers round impatient burned, 

Frae couples freed ; 
But, och ! he gaed and ne'er returned ! 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

' Clothe. * Rent paid in kind. ^ Blo-w. 

* Pikes. * Wliirring partridges. ^ Fcatber-Iegged. 

» Gleefully. ' Hares. • Dress. 



.r 



TAM SAI/SOJV'S ELEGY. i43 

In vain anld age liis body batters ; 

In vaiu the gout his ankles fetters ; 

In vain the burns came down hke waters. 

An acre braid ! 
Now every auld wile, greetin', clatters. 

Tarn Samson's dead! 

Owre mony a weary hag ^ he limpit, 
And aye the tither shot he thurapit,''* 
Till coward Death behind him jumpit, 

Wi' deadly feide ; ^ 
Kow he jDroclaims, wi' tout* o' trumpet. 

Tarn Samson's dead I 

"When at his heart he felt the dagger. 

He reeled his wonted bottle-swagger. 

But yet he drew the mortal trigger 

Wi' weel-aimed heed ; 

*' Lord, five I " he cried, and owre did stagger- 
Tarn Samson's dead ! 

Ilk hoary hunter mourned a brither ; 
ilk sportsman youth bemoaned a i'ather : 
Yon auld gray stane, amang the heather, 

Marks out his head, 
Whare Burns has wrote, in rhyming blether,' 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

There low he lies in lasting rest ; 
Perhaps upon his mouldering breast 
Some si^itefu' moorfowl bigs her nest, 

To hatch and breed ; 
Alas ! nae niair he '11 them molest ! 

Tam Samson's dead! 

When August winds the heather wave. 
And sportsmen wander by yon grave, 
Three volleys let his memory crave 

0' pouther and lead. 
Till Echo answer, frae her cave, — 

Tam Samson's dead! 

Heaven rest his saul, whare'er he be ! 
Is the wish o' mony mae than me ; 
He had twa fauts, or maybe three. 

Yet what remead ? 
Ae social honest man want we — 

Tam Samson's dead ? 

' A scai or gulf m mosses and moors. " Tlmmped. 

' Fend. * Soimd. * Koneense. 



144 ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CHILD. 



Tam Samson's •weel-worn clay here lies. 

Ye canting zealots, spare him ! 
If honest worth in heaven rise. 

Ye '11 mend or ye win near him. 

When Tam Sarason was old, he heard that Burns had made a poem on 
him. He sent at once for the Poet, and made him repeat it to him. 
When it was finished he exclaimed, " I'm no dead yet, Koliiu, I'm worth 
ten dead fowk. Wherefore should ye say that I am dead ? " Burns with- 
drew to a window, and in a minute or two returned with the following 
lines : — 

PER CONTEA. 

Go, Fame, and canter lilre a filly, 
Through a' the streets and neuks o' Killie,* 
Tell every social, honest billie 

To cease his grievin', 
For yet, unskaithed by Death's gleg gullie,* 

Tam Samson's leevin' ! 



ON THE DEATH OF A FAYOUEITE CHILD.* 

On, sweet be thy sleep in the land of the grave, 

My dear little angel, for ever ; 
For ever — oh, no ! let not man be a slave, 

His hopes from existence to sever. 

Though cold be the clay where thou pillow'st thy head, 

In the dark silent mansions of sorrow, 
The spring shall return to thy low narrow bed, 

Like the beam of the day-star to-morrow. 

The flower-stem shall bloom like thy sweet seraph form, 

Ere the Spoiler had nipt thee in blossom ; 
When thou shrunk from the scowl of the loud winter storm, 

And nestled thee close to that bosom. 

Oh, still I behold thee, all lovely in death. 

Reclined on the lap of thy mother, 
"When the tear trickled bright, when the short stifled breath, 

Told how dear ye were aye to each other. 

' Tam Samson survived Burns. The Epitaph is inscribed on his toml- 
Btone in Kilmarnock churchyard. 

■•' Killie is a phrase the country folks sometimes use for the name of a 
certain to\vn in the west. The town was Kilmarnock. —Burns. 

^ Sharp knife. 

■* These lines were written on the death of a little daughter of tha 
Poet's. She died suddenly while he was kbsent from home. 



ir 



REMORSE. 

"M-j child, thou art gone to the home of thy rest. 

Where suft'ering no longer can harm ye, 
Where the songs of the good, where the bymns of the 
blest, 

Through an endless existence shall charm thee. 

While he, thy fond parent, must sighing sojonru 
Through the dire desert regions of sorrow. 

O'er the hope and nnsf'ortune of being to mourn. 
And sigh for his life's latest morrow. 



EEMOESE. 

[Taken from a collection of MSS. which Burns placed iu the hands of Lis 

friend, Mrs. Riddel.] 

Of all the numerous ills that hurt our peace, 

That press the soul, or wring the mind with anguish, 

Beyond comparison the worst are those 

That to our folly or our guilt we owe. 

In every other circumstance, the mind 

Has this to say — " It was no deed of mine ; " 

But when to all the evil of misfortune 

This sting is added — "Blame thy foolish self!** 

Or worser far, the pangs of keen remorse ; 

The torturing, gnawing consciousness of guilt — • 

Of guilt, perluips, where we've involved others; 

The young, the innocent, who fondly loved us, 

ITay, more, that very love their cause of ruin ! 

burning hell ! in all thy store of torments 

There's not a keener lash ! 

Lives there a man so firm, who, while his heart 

Fe«ls all the bitter horrors of his crime. 

Can reason down its agonizing throbs. 

And, after proper purpose of amendment, 

Can firmly force his jarring thoughts to peace? 

O hai:)py, happy, enviable man ! 

glorious magnanimity of soul! 



Jj W^ 



JP 



146 



LIBEETY. 

A FRAGMENT. 

[Sent to Mrs. Dunlop in a letter. Burns says of it : "I am just going 
to trouble your critical pntience with the first sketch of a stanza I liave 
been framing as I passed along the road. The subject is Liberty. You 
know, my honoured friend, how dear the theme is to me. I design it as 
an irregular ode for General Wasiiington's birthday. After having men- 
tioned the degeneracy of otlicr kingdoms, I come to Scotland thus:" — ] 

TiiEE, Caledonia, thy wild heaths among, 
Thee, faniod for martial deed and sacred song. 

To thee I turn with swimming eyes ; 
Where is that sonl of freedom fled ? 
Immingled with the mighty dead, 

Beneath the hallowed turf whei-e Wallace lies I 
Hear it not, Wallace, iu thy bed of death ! 

Ye babbling winds, in silence sweep ; 

Disturb not ye the hero's sleep, 
Nor give the coward secret breath. 

Is this the power in freedom's war 

That wont to bid the battle rage ? 

Behold that eye which shot immortal hate, 

Crushing the despot's proudest beari:'.g : 

That arm which, nerved v%dth thundering fate^ 

Braved usurpation's boldest daring ! 

One quenched in darkness, like the sinking star, 

And one the palsied arm of tottering, powerless age. 



BRUCE. 

A FRAGMENT. 



His royal visage seamed with many a scar, 
That (':iledo!iiau reared his martial form, 
Who led the tyrant-quelling war, 
Wliore Baanockburn's ensanguined flood 
Swelled v/itli mingling hostile blood. 
Soon Edward's myriads struck with deep dismay. 
And Scotia's troop of brothers win their way. 
(Oh, glorious deed to bay a tyrant's band ! 
Oh, heavenly joy to free our native land ! ) 
While high their mighty chief poured on the doubling 
storm. 



147 



VEKSES 

TO MISS GKAHAM, OF FINTUY, WITH A PRESENT OP SONGS. 

Written by the Poet on the blank side of the title-page of a copy of 
SIhomson's "Select Scottish Songs." 

Heee, where the Scottish Muse immortal lives, 
In sacred strains and tuneful numbers joined, 

Accej)t the gift, though humble he who gives; 
Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind. 

So may no ruffian-feeling in thy breast 
Discordant jar thy bosom-chords among! 

But Peace attune thy gentle soul to rest. 
Or Love, ecstatic, wake his seraph song I 

Or Pity's notes, in luxury of tears, 
As modest Want the tale of woe reveals; 

"While conscious Virtixe all the strain endears. 
And heaven-born Piety her sanction seals. 



YERSES 

INTENDED TO BE WRITTEN BELOW A NOBLE EAKl's PICTUEE.' 

Whose is that noble, dauntless brow ? 

And whose that eye of fire ? 
And whose that generous, princely mien 

E'en rooted foes admire ? 

Stranger, to justly show that brow, 

And mark that eye of fire. 
Would take His hand, whose vernal tints 

His other works admire. 

Bright as a cloudless summer sun. 

With stately port he moves ; 
His guardian seraph eyes with awe 

The noble ward he loves. 

Among the illustrious Scottish sons 

That chief thou may'st discern; 
Mark Scotia's fond returning eye — 

It dwells upon Glencairn ! 

' "The enclosed stanzas," said the Poet, in a letter to his pati-on, the 
Earl of Glencairn, " I intended to write below a picture or prolile of your 
lordship, could I have been so happy as to procure one with anything o£ 
% likeness." 



148 



LINES 

SENT TO A gentleman' WHOM HE HAD OF*.EM)JSJ). 

The friend whom wild from wisdom's way 
The fumes of wine infuriate send, 

(!Not moony madness more astray,) 

Who but deplores that hapless friend P 

Mine was th' insensate frenzied part ; 

Ah! why should I such scenes outlive I 
Scenes so abhorrent to my heart ! 

'Tis thine to pity and forgive. 



YERSES 

ON THE DESTKTJCTION OF THE WOODS NEAR DRCTMLANRIO. 

As on the banks o' wandering? Nith 

Ae smiling summer morn I strayed, 
And traced its bonny howes and haughs 

Where Unties sang and lambkins played 
I sat me down upon a craig, 

And drank my fill o' fancy's dream, 
When, from the eddying deep below, 

Uprose the genius of the stream. 

Dark, like the frowning rock, his brow, 

And troubled like his wintry wave. 
And deep as sughs ^ the boding wind 

Amang his eaves, the sigh he gave — 
"And came ye here, my son," he cried, 

"To wander in my birken shade? 
To muse some favourite Scottish theme, 

Or sing some favourite Scottish maid? 

** There was a time, it's nae lang syne,* 

Ye might ha'e seen me in my jiride. 
When a' my banks sae bravely saw 

Their woody pictures in my tide ; 
When hanging beech and spreading elm 

Shaded my stream sae clear and cool ; 
And stately oaks their twisted arms 

Threw broad and dark across the pool ; 

• Mr. Riddel, at whose table Burns, after drinking too mud), had spoken 
insultingly of royalty, the army, &c. &c. This apology was accepted hj 
his kind host. 

- Tiie Duke of Queensbury cut down these woods to enrich his 
daughter, the Coimtess of Yarmouth, by their sale. 

» SigliS. . ' Since. 



TO GHLORIS. 149 

*When glinting through tlie trees appeared 

The wee white cot aboon the mill, 
And peacefu' rose its iagle reek," 

That slowly curled iip the hill. 
But now the cot is bare tnd cauld, 

Its branchy sheltei-'s lost and gane- 
And scarce a stinted birk is left 

To shiver in the blast its lane." 

•• Alas ! " said I, " what ruefu' chanct/ 

Has twined ' ye o' your stately trees P 
Has laid your rocky bosom bare ? 

Has stripped the deeding ^ o' your bmes P 
Was it the bitter eastern blast, 

That scatters blight in early spring? 
Or was 't the wii'-fire scorched their boughs. 

Or canker-worm wi' secret stiag ? " 

••Nae eastlin' blast," the sprite replied; 

'• It blew na here sae fierce and fell ; 
And on my dry and halesome banks 

Nae canker-worms get leave to dwell : 
Man ! cruel Man ! " the genius sighed, 

As through the^cliifs he sank him down— 
** The worm that gnawed my bonny trees. 

That reptile wears a ducal crown ! " 



TO CHLORIS.* 

Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend. 

Nor thou the gift refuse. 
Nor with unwilling ear attend 

The moralizing Muse. 

Since thou, in all thy youth and charms. 

Must bid the world adieu, 
(A world 'gainst peace in constant arms,) 

To join the friendly lew. 

Since thy gay mom of life o'ercast, 

Chill came the tempest's lower ; 
(And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast 

Did nip a fairer flower.) 

• The smoke of its fire. ^ Reft. ^ Clothing. 

* Jean Lorimer, of Craigiebum Wood, near Moffat. She married a Mr. 
Whelpdale, but was separated from him, and was residing at Dumfri«t 
when Burns met her. 



UO THE VOWELS. 

Since life's gay scenes must charm no mere, 

Still much is left behind ; 
Still nobler wealth hast thou in store— 

The comforts of the mind ! 

Thine is the self-approving glow. 
On conscious honour's part : 

And, dearest gift of heaven beloiv, 
Thine, friendship's truest heart. 

The joys refined of sense and taste. 

With every Muse to rove : 
And douljly were the Poet blest, 

Those joys could he improve. 



THE YOWELS. 



T-Vas where the birch and sounding thong are pliedj 

The noisy domicile of pedant jiride ; 

Where Ignorance lier darlceniTig vapour thru.ys. 

And Cruelty directs the thickening blows ; 

Upon a time. Sir Abece the great, 

In all his pedagogic powers elate. 

His awful chair of state resolves to mount, 

And call the trembling Vowels to account. 

First entered A, a grave, broad, solemn wight^ 
But, ah ! deformed, dishonest to the sight ! 
His twisted head looked backward on his way, 
And flagrant from the scourge, he grunted Ai ! 

Reluctant E stalked in ; with piteous race 
The j ostling tears ran down his honest face ! 
That name, that well-worn name, and all his owHi 
Pale he surrenders at the tyrant's throne ; 
The Pedant stifles keen, the Eoman sound 
jSTot all his mongrel diphthongs can compound; 
And next, the title following close behind. 
He to the nameless, ghastly wi'etch assigned. 

The cob webbed Gothic dome resounded, Y ! 
In sullen vengeance, I disdained reply : 
The Pedant swung his felon cudgel round, 
And knocked tlie sroaning vowel lo the ground I 



TBE HERMIT. 151 

In niefai apprehension entered O, 

The wailing minstrel of despairing woe; 

Th' Inquisitor of Spain the most expert, 

Might there have learnt new mysteries of his art: 

So grim, deformed with horrors, entering U, 

His dearest friend and brother scarcely knew! 

As trembling U stood staring all aghast, 
The Pedant in his left hand clutched him fast, 
In helpless infants' tea,rs ho dipped his right. 
Baptized him En, and kicked him from his sight. 



THE HEEMIT.i 

WllITTEN ON A MARBLE SIDEBOAUD IN THE HERMITAGE BELONG- 
ING TO THE DUKE OF ATHOLE, IN THE WOOD OF ABERFELDY. 

Whoe'er thou art these lines now reading. 
Think not, though from the world receding, 
I joy my lonely days to lead in 

This desert drear ; 
That fell remorse, a conscience bleeding. 

Hath led me here. 

No thought of guilt my bosom sours; 
Free-willed I fled from courtl}' bowers ; 
For well I saw in halls and towers 

That Inst and pride. 
The arch-fiend's dearest, darkest powerSi 

In state preside. 

I saw mankind with vic3 incrusted ; 
I saw that Honour's sword was rusted; 
That few for aught but folly lusted; 
That he was still deceived who trusted 

To love or friend ; 
And hither came, with men disgusted. 

My life to end. 

In this lone cave, in garments lowly. 

Alike a foe to noisy folly 

And brow-bent gloomy melancholy, 

I wear away 
My life, and in my office holy 

Consume the day. 

' First published in Hogg and Motherwell's eiHtion, but considered 
doubtful. 



n 



& 



152 TO MR. MITCHELL. 

This rock my shield, when storms are blowing j 
The limpid streamlet yonder flowing 
Supplying drink, the earth bestowing 

My simple food ; 
But few enjoy the calm I know in 

This desert wood. 

Content and comfort bless me more in 

This grot than e'er I felt before* in 

A palace — and with thoiights still soaring 

To God on high, 
Each night and morn, with voice imploring. 

This wish I sigh, — 

•* Let me, Lord ! from life retire. 
Unknown each guilty worldly fire, 
Kemorse's throb, or loose desire ; 

And when I die, 
Let me in this belief expire — 

To God I fly 

Stranger, if full of youth amd riot, 
And yet no grief has marred thy quiet. 
Thou haply throw'st a scornful eye at 

The hermit's prayer; 
But if thou hast good cause to sigh at 

Thy fault or care ; 

If thou hast known false love's vexation. 
Or hast been exiled from thy nation, 
Or guilt affrights thy contemplation. 

And makes thee pine, 
Ohl how must thou lament thy station. 

And envy mine ! 



POEM 

ADDRESSED TO MK. MITCUELL, COLLECTOa OF EXCI8B| 
^ DUMFRIES, 1796. 

Fkiexd of the Poet, tried and leal, 
Wha, wanting thee, might beg or steal j 
Alake, alake ! the meikle de'il 

Wi' a' his witches 
Are at it, skelpin, jig and reel, 

In my poor pouchea. 



TO A KLSS. 158 

T modestly fu' faiu wad hint it, 
That one pound one, I sairly want it : 
If wi' the hizzie down ye sent it. 

It would be kind ; 
And while my heart wi' Hfe-blood duntea 
I 'd bear 't in mind. 

So may the auld year gang out moaning 
To see the new come laden, groaning, 
Wi' double i^lentv o'er the loauin', 

1 o tnee ana tmne ; 
Domestic peace and com torts crowning 

The hale design. 



POSTSCKIPT. 

Ye've heard this while how I 've been licket, 
And by fell death Avas nearly nicket : 
Grim loun ! he gat me by the fecket. 

And sair me sheuk ; 
But by guid luck I lap a wicket, 

And turned a neuk. 

But by that health, I Ve got a share o't 
And by that life, I 'm promised mair o% 
My hale and wcel I '11 take a care o't 

A tentior way : 
TIuux fai'ewell, folly, hide and hair o% 

For auce and aye 1 



TO A KISS. 

Humid seal of soft affections, 
Tenderest pledge of future bliss, 

Dearest tie of young connexions. 
Love's first snowdrop, virgin kiss I 

Speaking silence, dumb confession. 
Passion's birth, and infant's play, 

Dove-like fondness, chaste concession. 
Glowing dawn of brighter day ! 

Sorrowing joy, adieu's last action. 

When lingering lips no more mubt join* 

What words can ever sjDeak affection 
So thrilling and sincere as thine ! 



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154 



ADDRESS, 

BPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLE ON HEU BENEFIT NIGHT, DEC. 4j 
1795, AT THE THEATRE, DUMFRIES 

Still anxious to secure your partial favour, 

And not less anxious, sure, this night, than ever, 

A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter, 

'Twould vamp my bill, said I, if nothing better; 

So, sought a Poet, roosted near the skies, 

Told him I came to feast my curious ej'es ; 

Said, nothing like his works was ever printed ; 

And last, my prologue business shly hinted. 

" Ma'am, let me tell you," quoth my man of rhymeg, 

" I know your bent — these are no laughing times : 

Can you — but Miss, I own I have my fears — 

Dissolve in pause — and sentimental tears — 

With laden sighs, and solemn-rounded sentoice, 

Bouse from his sluggish slumbers fell Eepenlance; 

Paint Vengeance as he takes his horrid stand, 

Waving on high the desolating brand. 

Calling the storms to bear him o'er a guilty land P '* 

I could no more — askance the creature eyeing, 
" D 'ye think," said I, "this face was made for crying? 
I'll laugh, that's y^qz — nay aiore, the world shall know it; 
And so, your servant, gloomy Master Poet ! " 

Firm as my creed, sirs, 'tis my fixed belief, 

That Misei-y 's another word for Grief; 

I also think— so may I be a bride ! 

That so much laughter, so much hfe enjoyed. 

Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless sigh. 
Still under bleak Misfortune's blasting eye; 
Doomed to that sorest task of man alive — ■ 
To make three guineas do the work of live : 
Laugh in Misfortune's face — the beldam v.dtch ! 
Say, you '11 be merry, though you can't be rich. 

Thou other man of care, the wretch in love. 
Who long with jiltish arts and airs hast strove; 
Who, as the botighs all temptingly project. 
Measur'st in desperate thought — a rope — thyneck-^ 
Or, where the beetling cliff o'erhangs the deep, 
Peerest to meditate the healing leap : 



THE TOAST. 156 

Would'st thou be cured, tliou silly, moping elf? 
Laugh at her follies — laugh e'en at thyself: 
Learn to despise those frowns now so turrilic, 
And love a kinder — that 's your grand specific 

To sum up all, be merry, I advise ; 

And as we 're merry, may we still be wise. 



THE TOAST.' 

Instead of a song, boys, I '11 give you a toast — 
Here 's the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost I — 
That we lost, did I say? nay, by heaven, that we found; 
For their fame it shall last while the world goes round. 

The next in succession, I '11 give you — The King ! 
Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing ! 
And here's the grand fabric, Our Free Constitution, 
As built on the base of the great Revolution ; 
And longer with i^olitics not to be crammed. 
Be Anarchy cursed, and be Tyranny damned ; 
And who would to Liberty e'er jsrove disloyal, 
May his son be a hangman, and he his first trial ! 

' This toast was given by Burns at a public dicnsr Iield oa th« 
auuiiversary of Ivodcef's Victory, April 12, 1782. 



IfixbjeniU flotm^* 



TEAGIO FRAGMENT.* 

Ait, devil as I am, a damned wretch, 

A hardened, stubborn, unrepeutmg villain, 

Still my heart melts at human wretchednosaj 

And with sincere, thougli unavailing sighs, 

I view the helpless children of distress. 

With tears indignant I behold the oppressor 

Eejoicing in the honest man's destruction, 

whose unsubmitting heart was all his crime. 

Even you, ye helpless crew, I pity you ; 

Ye, whom the seeming good think sin to pity; 

Ye poor, despised, abandoned vagabonds, 

Whom vice, as usual, has turned o'er to ruin. 

Oh, but for kind, though ill-requited friends, 

I had been driven forth like you, forlorn, 

The most detested, worthless vn.-etch among you I 

O injured God! Thy goodness has endowed me 

With talents passing most of my compeers, 

Which I in just proportion have abused. 

As far surpassing other common villains 

As Thou in natural parts hadst given me more. 

' This fragment is one of the first poems written by Bums. He says 
of it hirasolf, in one of his MSS., "In ray early years uotliiiig less 
would serve me than courting the tragic Muse. I was, I think, abiut 
eighteen or nineteen when I sketched the outlines of a tragedy, forsooth •, 
but the bursting of a cloud of family misfortunes, which had for some 
time threatened us, prevented my further progress. In those days I 
never wrote down anything ; so, except a speech or two, the whole has 
escaped my memory. The above, which I most distinctly remember, was 
an exclamation from a great character — great in occasional instances of 
generosity, and daring at times in villaniea. He is supposed to meet with 
a child of miaery, and exclaims to himself, as in the words of the frag* 
nient." 



J 



167 



THE TARBOLTON LASSES. 

If ye gae up to yon hill-tap, 
Yfi'll see there bonny Pei[?gy ; 

She keus her faither is a laird, 
And she forsooth's a leddy. 

There Sophy tight, a lassie bright. 
Besides a handsome fortune, 

Wha canna win her in a night. 
Has httle art in courting. 

Gae down by Faile, and taste the ala^ 

And tak' a look o' Mysie; 
She's dour^ and din, a de'il within, 

But aiblins * she may please ye. 

If she be shy, her sister try, 
Te'll maybe fancy Jenny; 

If ye'll dispense wi' want o' sense- 
She kens hersel' she 's bonny. 

As ye gae up by yon hill-side, 
Speer * in for bonny Bessy ; 

She'll gi'e ye a beck,* and bid ye liclit. 
And handsomely address ye. 

There's few sae bonuie, nane sae guid 
In a' King George' dominion ; 

If ye should doubt the truth o' tiiis— 
It's Bessie's ain opinion. 



THE EONALDS. 

In Tarbolton, ye ken, there are proper young men. 

And proper young lasses and a', man ; 
But ken ye the Eonalds, that live in the BennalsP 
They carry the gree ^ frae them a', man. * 

Their father's a laird, and weel he can spare't, 

Braid money to tocher' them a', man, 
To proper young men, he'll clink in the han' 

Gowd guineas a hunder or twa, man. 

' This is one of the Poet's juvenile poems; the young maidens immop 
talized iu it, were near neighbours of the Burns family. 

^ Obstinate. ^ Perhaps. •• Ask, or call. 

• Bow. • Palm. ' Portion. 



iOi 



ILj ,'" 

168 THE RONALDS. 

There's ane they ca' Jean, I'll wai-rant ye've seen 

As bonny a lass or as braw, man; 
But for sRnse and guid taste she'll vie wi' the best, 

And a condact that beautifies a', man. 

The charms o' the min', the langer they shine, 
The miair admiration they draw, man; 

While peaches and cherries, and roses and lilies, 
They fade and they wither awa', man. 

If ye be for Miss Jean, tak' this frae a frien', 

A hint o' a rival or twa, man, 
The Laird o' Blackbyre wad gang through the fire, 

If that wad entice her awa', man. 

The Laird o' Braehead has been on his speed, 
For mair than a towmond* or twa, man ; 

The Laird o' the Ford will straught oi\ a board,^ 
If he carina get her at a', man. 

Then Anna comes in, the pride o* her kin. 
The boast of our bachelors a', man ; 

Sae sonsy ^ and sweet, sae fully complete. 
She steals our affections awa', man. 

If I should detail the pick and the wale * 
0' lasses that live here awa', man. 

The fault wad be mine, if they didna shine 
The sweetest and best o' them a', mau: 

I lo'e her mysel', but darena weel tell. 
My poverty keeps me in awe, man. 

For making o' rhymes, and working at timea» 
Does little or naething at a', man. 

Yet I wadna choose to let her refuse, 
Nor hae 't in her power to say nay, man ; 

For though I be poor, iinnoticed, obscure, 
My stomach's as proud as them a', man. 

Tliough I canna ride in weel-booted pride, 
^And flee o'er the hills like a craw, man, 
I can baud up my head with the best o' the breed* 
Though fluttering ever so braw, man. 

My coat and my vest, they are Scotch o' the best, 
0' pairs o' guid breeks I ha'e twa, man. 

And stockings and pumps to put on my stumps, 
And ne'er a wraug steek in them a', man. 

' Twelvemonth. '■' Be stretched on a board. 

• Comely. ■• Choice. 



A WELCOME TO HIS ILLEGITIMATE CHILD. 159 

My sarks* they are few, hut five o' them new, 
Twal' huudred,''' as white as tlie snaw, man, 

A ten-shilling hat, a Holland cravat ; 
There are no mony poets sae braw, man. 

I never had frien's weel stoclvit in means, 

To leave me a hundred or twa, man ; 
Nae weel-tochered ' aunts, to wait on their drants,* 

And wish them in hell for it a', man. 

I never was cannie ^ for hoarding o' money, 

Or claughtin 't " together at a', man, 
I've little to spend, and naclliing to lend, 

But deevel a shilling I awe,'' man. 



THl'l POET'S WELCOME TO HIS ILLEGITIMATES 
CHILD.* 

TiiOTj's welcome, wean l^ miscbanter^ fa' me. 
If ought of thee, or of thy m!i.mmy. 
Shall ever danton me, or awe mo, 

My sweet wee lady. 
Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me 

Tit-ta, or daddy. 

Wee image of my bonny Bettv, 
I fatherly will kiss and dant '" tliee. 
As dear and near my heart I yet thee 

Wi' as guid will. 
As a' the priests had seen me get thee 

That 'scut of hell. 

What though they ca' me fornicator, 
And tease my name in kintra clatter: " 
The mair they talk I 'm kenned tlie better. 

E'en let them clash ! »2 
An auld wife's tontytie 's a feckless '^ matter 

To gi'e ane fash." 

' Shirts. « A kind of cloth. ^ Dowered. 

'' Humours. ' Caieful. ^ Gathering greedily. 

' Owe. 8 Child. 9 Misfortune. 

'" Fondle. " Country talk. '" Gossip. 

'^ Very small. "^ Trouhle. 

* The sul.ject of these verses was the Poet's illegitimate daughter^ 
who, in " The Inventory," he styles his 

"Sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess." 
She grew up, was married, and bad a family. Her deain was iflus 



J 



160 A PRAYER. 

Sweet fruit o' mony a meiTy dint, 

My funny toil is now a' tint, 

Sin' thou came to the warld asklent,' 

Which fools may scoff at} 
In my last plack thy part's be in 't — 

The better half o't. 

And if thou be what I wad ha'e thee, 
And tak' the counsel I shall gi'e thee, 
A lovin' father I '11 be to thee, 

If thou be spared : 
Through a* thy childish years I '11 e'e thee. 

And think 't weel wared. 

Guid grant that thou may aye inherit 
Thy mither's person, grace, and merit. 
An' thy poor worthless daddy's spirit. 

Without his failin's. 
Twill please me niair to hear and see 't, 

Than stockit maUena.* 



A PBAYER, 

UNDEK THE PKESSUKE OP VIOLENT ANGUISH^ 

O Thou great Being ! what Thou art 

Sui'passes me to know; 
Yet sure I am, that known to Thee 

Are all Thy works below. 

Thy creature here before Thee stands, 

All wretched and distrest ; 
Yet sure those ills that wring my soul 

Obey Thy high behest. 

Sure Thou, Almighty, canst not act 

From cruelty or wrath ! 
Oh, free my weary eyes from tears. 

Or close them fast in death ! 

But if I must afflicted be, 

To suit some wise design ; 
Then man my soul with firm resolves. 

To bear and not repine ! 

announced in the Scots 3fa{/azine, December 8, 1817 : — " Died, Elizabeth 
Burns, wife of Mr. John Bishop, overseer at Polkemmet, near Whitburn. 
She was the daughter of the celebrated Robert Bums, and the subject 
of some of his most beautiful lines." 

• Ii-regularly. * Stocked farms. 



I 



if' 



1 



^^n 



161 



THOUGH FICKLE FORTUNE HAS DECEIVED ME. 

Though fickle Fortune has deceived me, 
Sbe promised fair and performed but ill; 

Of mistress, friends, and wealth bereaved me. 
Yet I bear a heart shall support me stiU. 

I '11 act with prudence as far's I 'm able, 

But, if success I must never find. 
Then come misfortune, I bid thee welcome, 

I '11 meet thee with an undaunted mind. 

[The above was written extempore, imder the pressure of a heavy trair 
of niisfortunes, which, indeed, threatened to undo me altogether. It was 
just at the close of that dreadful period mentioned already (in Common- 
place Book, March, 1784), and, though the weather has brightened up a 
little with me since, yet there has always been a tempest brewing round 
me in the giim sky of futurity, which I pretty plainly see will, somt 
time or other, perhaps ere long, overwhelm me, and drive me into some 
doleful dell, to pine in solitary, squalid wretchedness. — ^BuaNS.J 



^psihs. 



EPISTLE TO D^VIS, 

A BEOTIIEI- POET, 

Da-vie Sillar. s nativj ol Tarbolton, wai originally •<- schoolmastei, and 
afterwards magistrate at. Irvine, and had published i. volume oi poem? in 
the Scottish dialect. 

January^ ]786. 

While winds frae aft' Ben Lomond blaw, 
And bar the doors wi' driving snaw, 

And hing'"' ns owre the ingle,'^ 
I set me down to pass the time, 
And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme, 

In hamely westli ?' jingle. 
While frosty winds blaw in the drift, 

Ben to the chimla lug,* 
I grudge a wee the great folks' gift, 

That live sae bien an' snug : 

• This epistle is very interesting, as having suggested the first idea of 
publication to Burns. "It was, I think," says Gilbert Burns, " in the 
Bunimer of 1784, when, in the interval of harder labour, Robert and I 
were weeding in the garden, that he lepeated to me the principal part of 
this epistle. I believe the first idea of Robert's becoming an author was 
started on this occasion. I was much pleased with the epistle, and said 
to him I was of opinion it would bear being printed, and that it would be 
■well received by pieople of taste ; that I thought it at least equal, if not 
superior, to many of Allan Ramsay's epistles, and that the merit of these, 
and much other Scottish poetry, seemed to consist principally in the 
knack of the expression ; but here there was a strain of interesting senti- 
ment, and the Scotticism of the language scarcely seemed affected, but 
appeared to be the natural language of the Poet ; that, besides, there was 
certninly one novelty in a ^loet. pointing out the consolations that were in 
store for him when he should go a-begging. Robert seemed well pleased 
with my criticism." 

■■' Hang. ' Fire. * C'aimney-comer. 



TO DAVIE. 163 

I tent ' less, and want less, 

Their roomy fireside ; 
But hanker and canker, 

To see their cursed pride. 

It's hardly in a body's power 

To keep, at times, frae being sour, 

To see how tnings are shared ; 
How best o' chiels are whiles in want, 
While coofs^^ on countless thousands rant; 

And ken ua how to wair't : ^ 
But, Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head, 

Though we ha'e little gear. 
We 're fit to win our daily bread, 
As lang's we 're hale and fier: * 

" Mair spier na, no fear na," * 
Auld age ne'er mind a feg. 
The last o't, the warst o't, 
Is only for to beg. 

To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, 

V/nen banes are crazed, and bluid is thin. 

Is, doubtless, great distress ; 
Yet then content cnajld make us blest ; 
E'en then, sometimes we 'd snatch a taste 

Of truest happiness. 
The honest heart that's free frae a' 

Intended fraud or guile. 
However fortune kick the ba'. 
Has aye some cause to smile. 

And mind still, you '11 find still, 

A comfort this nac sma'; 
Nae mair then, we '11 cai-e then, 
Nae farther can we fa'. 

What though, like commoners of air, 
We wander out, we know not where, 

But either house or hall ? 
Yet Nature's charms, the hills and wooda. 
The sweeping vales, and foaming floods. 

Are free alike to all. 
In days when daisies deck the ground. 

And blackbirds whistle clear, 
With honest joy our hearts will bound 

To see the coming year : 

» Heed. '■' Fools. ^ gpgnd it. 

* Sound. •'' Ramsay. "Don't ask more, uo fear haTft 



If^ 



i({4 TO DAVIE. 

On braes when we please, then. 
We'll sit an' sowth' a tune; 

Syne rhyme tiirt,^ we '11 time t.' I't, 
And sing 't when we hae do:ie. 

It's no in titles nor in rank ; 

It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank. 

To purchase peace and rest ; 
It's no in making muckle mair : 
It's no in books ; it's no in lear,' 

To make us truly blest : 
If hapi^iness ha'e not her seat 

And centre iu the breast, 
We may be wise, or rich, or greai^ 
But never can be blest : 

Nae treasures, nor pleasures. 

Could make us happy lang: 
The heart aye's the jjart aye, 
That makes us right or wrang. 

Think ye, that sic as you and I, 

"Wlia drudge and drive through wet an' dry, 

Wi' never-cep.sing toil ; 
Think ye, are we less blest than they, 
"Wha scarcely tent * us in t,l?eir way. 

As hardly worth their while ? 
Alas ! how aft in haughty mood, 
God's creatures they oppress ! 
Or else, neglecting a' that's guid, 
They riot in excess ! 

Baith careless, and fearless 
Of either heaven or hell! 
Esteeming, and deeming 
It's a' an idle tale ! 

Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce ; 
ITor make our scanty pleasures less. 

By pining at our state ; 
And, even should misfortunes come» 
I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some, 

An's thankfu' for them yet. 
They gi'e the wit of age to youth; 

They let us ken oursel' ; 
They make us see the naked truth. 
The real guid and ill. 

Though losses, and crosses, 

Be lessons right severe, 
There's wit there, ye'll get there, 
Ye'll find nae other where. 

* TVllistle. " We'll rhyme to it. " Learning. ♦ Heed. 



a 



TO DAVIE. 165 

But tent me,' Davie, ace o' hearts ! 

(To say au^lit less wad wrang the carteSf 

And flattery I detest,) 
This lite has joys for you and I ; 
And joys that riches ne'er could buy; 

And joys the very best. 
There's a' the pleasures o' the heart, 

Tlie lover an' the frien' ; 
Ye ha'e your Meg,- your dearest part, 
And I my darling Jean ! 

It warms me, it charms me, 
To mention but her name; 
It heats me, it beets me, 
And sets me a' on flame I 

O all ye Powers who rule above ! 
O Thou, whose ver}' self art love ! 
Thou know'st my words sincere ! 
The life-blov:/Cl streaming through my hearty 
Or my more dear immortal part. 

Is not more fondly dear ! 
"When heart-corroding care and grief 

Deprive my soul of rest, 

Her dear idea brings relief 

And solace to my breast. 

Thou Being, All-seeing, 

Oh, hear my fervent prayei j. 
Still take her, and make her 
Thy most peculiar caie I 

All hail, ye tender feelings dear ! 
The smile of love, the friendly tear, 

The sympathetic glow ; 
Long oince, this world's thorny WTija 
Had numbered out my weaiy days, 

Had it not been for you ! 
Fate still has blest me with a friend 

In every care and ill ; 
And oft a more endearing i^and, 
A tie more tender still. 

It lightens, it brightens 

The tenebrific scene, 
To meet with, and greet with 
My Davie or my Jean. 



* To "tent " is to take lieed. 

" Margaret Orr. Slie did not marry Slllar. 



e 



166 SECOND EPISTLE TO DAVIE. 

Oil, how tliat name inspires my style ! 
The words come skelpiu ' rank and file, 

Amaist before I ken ! 
The ready measure rins as fine, 
As i'hosbus and the famous Nine 

Were glowrin' owre my pen. 
My spaviet^ Pegasus will limp, 

Till ance he's fairly het; 
And then he'll hilch,^ and stilt,* and jimj^ 
An' rin an' unco fit ; 

But lest then, the beast then 
Should rue this hasty ride, 
I'll 'light now, and dight now 
His sweaty wizened hide. 



SECOND EPISTLE TO DAVIS, 

A BUOTIIEK POET." 
AULD NlilBOll, 

I 'm three times doubly o'er your debtor. 
For your auld farrant ^ friendly letter ; 
Though I maun say't, 1 doubt ye flatter. 

Ye speak sae fair, 
For my puir, silly, rhyaiin' clatter 

Some less maun sair." 

Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle ; 
Lan^ may your elbuck jink ^ and diddle, 
To cheer you through the weary widdle 

(3' war'ly cares, 
Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle 

Your auld grey hairs. 

But, Davie, lad, I 'm rede''* ye're glaikit," 
I 'm tauid the Muse ye ha'e negleckit ; 
An' gif it's sae, ye sud be licket 

Until ye fyke ; '" 
Sic hauns as you sud ne'er be faiket,'' 

Be hain't '* wha like. 

' Running. ^ Spavined. ^ Hobble. 

" H;ilt. * Wipe. 

^ This epistle is prefixed to the poems of David Sillar, which 
published in Kihnarnock, in the year 1789. 

' Sensible, sagacious. " Serve. ^ E'/bow jerk. 

i» Tuld. " Idle, foolish. '* V^Jice. 

'^ Unknown. '* Spared. 



ri 



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TU J. LAPRAIK. 167 

For me, I 'm on Parnassus' brink, 
Eivin' ' the words to gar '^ tliem clink ; 
Whyles daez't wi' love, whyles daez't wi' drink, 

Wi' jads or masons ; 
An' whyles, hut aye owre late, I think, 

Braw Sober lessons. 

Of a' the thoughtless sons o' man, 
Commeu' me to the bardie clan ; 
Except it be some idle plan 

O' rhj^min' clink. 
The devil haet, that I sud ban •'' 

They ever think. 

Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o* livia', 
Nae cares to gi'e us joy or gi-ievin' ; 
But just the pouchie'put the nieve'' in. 

An' while ought's there, 
Then hiltie, skiltie, we gae scrievin',* 

An' fash * nae mair. 

Leeze me on rhyme ! its aye a treasure, 
My chief, amaist my only pleasure, 
At hame, a-fiel', at wark or leisure. 

The Muse, poor hizzie ! 
Though rough an' raploch ' be her measure^ 

She 's seldom lazy. 

Hand to the Muse, my dainty Davie : 
The warl' may play you mony a shavie ; * 
But for the Muse, she '11 never leave ye, 

Though e'er sae puii*, 
Na, even though limpin' wi' the spavie 

Frae door to door. 



EPISTLE TO J. LAPEAIK,' 

AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD. 

April 1, 1785. 

While briers an' woodbines budding green. 
An' paitricks '" scraichin ' ' loud at e'en, 

' Twisting. * Make. * Swear. 

< Hand. * Merrily. « Trouble, 

' Coarse. « Trick. 

^ Lapraik was a poet. His beautiful song, "When I upon thy bosom 
lean," is well known. 
'" Partridges. " Screaming. 



tJ 



168 TO J. LAPRAIK. 

An' morning poussie ' whidden - seen. 
Inspire my muse. 

This freedom in an unknown irien' 
I pray excuse. 

On Fasten-e'en we had a rocliin'," 

To ca' the crack'' and weave our stockiu*j 

And there was muckle fun an' jokin', 

Ye need na doubt ; 
At length we had a hearty yokin^ 

At sang about. 

There was ae sang amang the rest, 
Aboon tnem a' it pleased me best, 
That some kind husband had addrest 

To some sweet wife : 
It tliirled the heart-strings through the breasf^ 

A' to the hfe. 

I 've scarce heard ought describes sae weel. 
What generous, manly bosoms feel ; 
Thought I, "Can this be^Pope, or Steele, 

Or Beattie's wark ? " 
They tald me 'twas an odd kind chiel 

About Muirkirk. 

It pat me fidgin fain ^ to hear 't, 
And sae about him there I spier't,' 
Then a' that kent him round declared 

He had ingine,^ 
That nane excelled it, few came near't. 

It was sae fine. 

That set him to a pint of ale. 

An' either douce * or meny tale, 

Or rhymes an' sangs he 'd made himsel*. 

Or witty catches, 
Tween Inverness and Teviotdale 

He had few matches. 

Then up I gat, an' swoor an aith. 

Though I should pawn my j^leugh and graith,'® 

Or die a cadger pownie's death. 

At some dyke back, 
A pint an' gill I 'd gi'e them baith 

To hear your crack. 

' Pussy— a hare. ^ Runnioj^ 

• Meeting of women to spin with the rock or distaff. 

« Gossip. * Bout. 

• Fidgetingly desirous. ' Inquired. 

• Genius. ^ Grave. '" Tackle. 



TO J. LAPRATK. 169 

But, first an' foremost, I sliould tell, 
Amaist as soon as I could spell, 
I to the crambo-jingle fell, 

Though rude an' rougb. 
Yet crooning to a body's sel', 

Does weel eneugh. 

I am na poet, in a sense. 

But just a rhymer, like, by chance. 

An' ha'e to learning nae pretence, 

Yet, what the matter P 
Whene'er my Muse does on me glance, 

I jingle at her. 

Your critic-folk may cock their nose, 
And say, " How can you e'er propose, 
You wha ken hardly verse fra<! prose. 

To mak' a sang?" 
But, by your leave, my learned foes, 

Te're may be wrang. 

What's a' your jargon o' your schools, 
Yonr Latin names for horns an' stools; 
If honest Nature made you fools. 

What sairs your gi-amraarsP 
Ye'd better ta'en up spades and shools. 

Or knappin^-hammers. 

- A set o' dull, conceited hashes,* 
Confuse their brains in college classes ! 
» They gang in stirks,^ and come out asses. 
Plain truth to speak ; 
An' syne they think to climb Parnassus 
By dint o' Greek ! 

Gi'e me a spark o' Nature's fire, 

That's a' the learning I desire ; 

Then though I drudge through dub an' mir© 

At pleugh or cart, 
My Muse, though hamely in attire, 

May touch the heart 

Oh, for a spunk o' Allan's * glee. 
Or Fergusson's, the bauld and slee, 
Or bright Lapraik's, my friend to be^ 

If I can hit it ! 
That would be lear eneugh for me. 

If I could get it. 

* Stone -breaking. « BlockheacJa- 

• Year-old cattle (bullock). * Allan Ramsay 



170 TO J. LAPBAIK. 

Now, sir, if ye ha'e friends enow, 
Thongli real friends, I b'lieve, are few. 
Yet, if your catalogue be fou, 

I'se no insist, 
But gif ye want ae friend tliat's true, 

I'm on your list. 

I winna blaw about mysel' ; 

As ill I like my fau'ts to tell ; 

But friends, an' folk that wish me well, 

They sometimes roose' me; 
Though I maun own, as mouie still 

As far abuse me. 

There's ae wee faut they whyles lay to me, — 

I like the lasses — Gude forgi'e me ! 

For mouie a plack - they wheedle frae me^ 

At danee or fair; 
May be some ither thing they gi'e me, 

They weel can spare. 

But Mauchline race, or Mauchline fair, 
I should be proud to meet you there ; 
We'se gi'e a night's dischai-ge to care 

If we forgather. 
An' ha'e a swap o' rhymin' ware 

Wi' ane anither. 

The ibur-gill ehap,^ we'se gar * him clatter. 
An' kirsen * him wi' reekin' water ; 
Syne we'U sit down an' tak' our whitter,* 

To cheer our heart ; 
An' faith, we'se be acquainted better 

Before we part. 

There's naething like the honest nappy l'^ 
Whar'll * ye e'er see men sae happy, 
Or women sonsie, saft, and sappy," 

'Tween morn and morUj, 
As them wha like to taste the drappy '° 

In glass or horn? 

I've seen me dais't " upon a time, 

I scarce could wink, or see a styme ; •* 

' Praise. ° Small Scottish coin. ' Stoup. 

* Make. * Christen. 

* Hearty draught of liquor. '' Ale. 

* "Where will. ^ Comely. '" Small drop. 
" Dazed. " In the least 



SECOND EPISTLE TO LAPRAIK. 171 

Just ae half-mutclikiii does me prime, 

Auglit less is little. 
Then back I rattle on the rhyme, 

As gieg's a whittle I * 

Awa' ye selfish war'ly race, 

Wha think that having, sense, and grace, 

E'en love and friendship, should give placo 

To catch-the-plack ! * 
I dinna ^ like to see your face, 

Nor hear you crack.* 

But ye whom social pleasure charais, 
Whose hearts the tide of kindness warms. 
Who hold your being on the terms, 

" Each aid the others," 
Come to my bowl, come to my arms, 

My friends, my brothers J 

But, to conclude my lang epistle, 

As my auld pen's worn to the grissle ; 

Twa lines frae you wad gar me fissle, 

Who am, most fervent, 
"While I can either sing or whissle. 

Your friend and servant. 



SEOOTTD EPISTLE TO LAPRAIK. 

April 21, 1785. 

While new-ca'd kye* rent' at the stake. 
An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik. 
This hour on e'enin's edge I take, 

To own I "m debtor 
To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik, 

For his kind letter, 

Forjesket ' sair, with weary legs, 
Battlin' the com out owre the rigs. 
Or dealin' through amang the naigg, 

Their ten hours' bite. 
My awkwart Muse sair pleads and begs 

I would na write. 

* As keen as a knife. * Money. ' Do not. 

• Talk * Bnstle. • Covra. 
' Low. • Jaded. 



k 






172 SECOND EPISTLE TO LAPRAIK. 

The tapetless ' ramfeezlcd^ hizzie, 
She 's saft at best, and something lazy, 
Quo' she, " Ye ken, we 've been sae busy 

This month an' mair, 
That trouth my head is grown right dizzie. 

An' something sair." 

Her dowff* excuses pat me mad; 
"Conscience," says I, "ye thowless * jad I 
I '11 write, an' that a hearty bland. 

This vera night ; 
So dinna ye affront your trade, 

But rhyme it right. 

Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o' hearts, 
Though mankind were a pack o' cartes, 
Boose ^ you sae weel for your deserts, 

In terms sae friendly, 
Yet ye '11 neglect to shaw your parts, 

An' thank him kindly P ** 

Sae I gat paper in a blink. 

An' down gaed stumpie in the ink : 

Quoth I, " Before I sleep a wink, 

I vow I 'II close it ; 
An' if ye winna mak' it clink. 

By Jove I '11 prose it!** 

Sae I 've begun to scrawl — but whether 

In rhyme or prose, or baith thegither, 

Or some hotch-potch, that's rightly neither* 

Let time mak' proof; 
But I shall scribble down some blether'' 

Just clean aff-loof. " 

My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carp. 
Though fortune use you hard an' sharp; 
Come, kittle^ up you" moorland harp 

Wi' gleesome touch ! 
Ne'er mind how Fortune waft an' warp s 

She 's but a bitch. 

She 's gi'en me monie a jirt an' fleg,' 

Sin' I could striddle owre a rig ; 

But, by the Lord, though I should beg 

Wi' lyart pow,'" 
I '11 laugh, an' sing, an' shake my leg. 

As lang's I dow ! *' 

' Heedless. « Fatigued. •' Silly. 

* Lazy. * Praise. ® NonseiiB*. 

' Unpremeditated. * Tickle. " Kick. 

^ Grey hair. " Can. 



jr 



SECOND EPISTLE TO LAPRAIK. 173 

Now comes the sax an' twentieth simmer, 
I 've seen the bud upo' the timmer 
Still persecuted by the limmer 

Frae year to year; 
But yet, despite the kittle kimmer,' 

1, Eob, am here. 

Do ye envy the city gent, 
Behint a kist ^ to lie and sklent,' 
Or purse-proud, bi^ wi' cent, per cent. 

And muckle wame. 
In some bit brugh to represent 

A bailie's name? 

Or is't the paiighty,'' feudal Thane, 
"Wi' ruffled sark and glancing cane, 
Wha thinks himsel' nae sheep-shank baue^ 

But lordly stalks, 
While caps and bonnets afF are ta'en. 

As by he walks ? 

** Thou wha gi'es us each guid gift ! 
Gi'e me o' wit an' sense a lift. 
Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift 

Through Scotland wide; 
Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna shift. 

In a' their pride ! " 

Were this the charter of our state, 
" On pain o' heU be rich an' great," 
Damnation then would be our fate. 

Beyond remead: 
But, thanks to Heaven ! that's no the gat© 

We learn our creed. 

For thus the royal mandate ran, 
When first the human race began, 
'* The social, friendly, honest man, 

Whate'er he be, 
'Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan. 

An' none but he ! '* 

O mandate glorious and divine ! 
The ragged followers of the Nine, 
Poor, thoughtless devils ! yet may shina 

In glorious light, 
WhUe sordid sons of Mammon's line 

Are dark as night. 

' Skittish damsel. * Counter. ' Deceive. 

* Haughty. 



174 TO WILLIAM SIMPSON. 

Though here they scrape, an' squeeze, an' growl. 
Their worthless nievefu' ' of a soul 
May in some future carcase howl 

The forest's fright ; 
Or in some day- detesting owl 

May shun the Kght. 

Then may Lapraik and Burns arise. 
To reach their native, kindred skies, 
And sing their pleasures, hopes, an' joys. 

In some mild sphere, 
Stm closer knit in friendship's ties, 

Each passing year ! 



TO WILLIAM SIMPS0]^,2 OCHILTREE. 

May, 1786, 

I GA.T your letter, winsome Willie ; 
Wi' gratefu' heart I thank you brawlie ; 
The iigh I maun say't, I wad be silly. 

An' unco vain, 
Should I beheve, my coaxin' billie,' 

Your flatterin' strain. 

But I'se believe ye kindly meant it, 
I sud be laith to think ye hinted 
Ironic satire, sidelins sklented* 

On my poor Musie ; 
Though in sic phrasin' terms ye' ve penned it, 

I scarce excuse ye. 

My senses wad be in a creel,^ 
Should I but dare a hope to speel' 
Wi' Allan, or wi' Gilbertfiel', 

The braes o' fame; 
Or Fergusson, the v^adter-chiel, 

A deathless name. 

(0 Fergusson ! thy glorious parts 
111 suited law's dry, musty arts ! 

' Handful. 

* William Simpson was schoolmaster of the parish of Ochiltree, and 
afterwards of New Cummoch. He was a tolerably good poet, and a very 
intelligent, clever man. 

* Brother. ^ Cast sidelong. 

* To be crazed ; creel is, literally, a baaket. •* Climb. 



-O 



TO WILLIAM SIMPSON. 17S 

My curse upon your \vhnnstane ' hearts, 
Ye Enbrngli genby! 

The tithe o' what ye waste at cartes 

Wad stowed his pantry I) 

Yet when a tale comes i' my head, 
Or lasses gi'e my heart a screed,^ 
As whyles they're like to be my deed, 

(Oh, sad disease!) 
I kittle ' up my rustic reed ; 

It gi'es me ease. 

Auld Coila now may fidge fu' fain, 

She 's gotten poets o' her ain, 

Chiels wha their chanters winna hain,* 

But tune their lays. 
Till echoes a' resound again 

Her weel-sung praise. 

Nae poet thought her worth his while, 
To set her name in measured style; 
She lay Hke some unlcenncd-of isle 

Beside New Holland* 
Or whare wild meeting oceans boil 

Besouth Magellan. 

Ramsay an' famous Fergusson 
Gied Forth an' Tay a Hit aboon ; 
Yarrow an' Tweed, to monie a tune, 

Owre Scotland rings. 
While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, an' Docn. 

Naebody sings. 

Th' Ilhssus, Tiber, Thames, an' Seine; 
Glide sweet in monie a tiinefu' line; 
But, Willie, set your fit* to mine, 

An' cock your crest, 
We 'U gar ^ our streams and burnies shine 

Up wi' the best. 

We '11 sing auld Coila's plains an' fells, 
Her moors red-brown wi' heather-bells, 
Her banks an' braes, her dens an' dells, 

Where glorious Wallace 
Aft bure the gree," as story tells, 

Frae southron billies.^ 

* Whinstone. * A rent. ^ Tickle. 

* Spare. * Foot. ^' Make. 
' Bore the palm — was victorious over. ' Fellows. 



176 TO WILLIAM SIMPSON. 

At Wallace' name what Scottish blood 
But boils up in a spring- tide flood ! 
Oft have our fearless fathers strode 

By Wallace' side, 
Still pressing onward, red-wat shod,^ 

Or glorious dyed. 

Oh, sweet are Coila's haughs'* an' woods. 
When lintwhites"' chant amang the buds, 
And jinkin* hares, in amorous whids, 

Their loves enjoy, 
While through the braes the cushat croods 

With wailfu' cry ! 

E'en winter bleak has charms to me. 
When winds rave through the naked tree; 
Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree 

Are hoary grey; 
Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee. 

Darkening the day 2 

O IsTature ! a' thy shows an' forms, 
To feeling, pensive hearts ha'e charms \ 
Whether the summer kindly warms 

Wi' life an' light. 
Or winter howls in gusty storms 

The lang, dark night I 

The Muse, nae poet ever fand her. 
Till by himsel' he learned to wander, 
Adown some trotting burn's meander, 

An' no think lang ; 
Oh, sweet to stray an' pensive ponder 

A hearti'elt sang ! 

The warly race may drudge an' drive, 
Hog-shouther, juudie,^ stretch, and strive 
Let me fair Nature's face descrive, 

And 1, wi' pleasure, 
Shall let the busy, grumbling hive 

Bum^ owrc their treasiire. 

Fareweel, " my rhyme-composing brither ! " 
We 've been owre lang unkenned to ither: 
Now let us lay our heads thegitlier, 

Tn love fraternal : 
May Envy wallop in a tether, 

Black flend, infernal ! 

' Over shoes in blood. * Valleys. ^ Linnets. 

* Dodging. ^ Jostle. * Hum. 




TO WILLIAM SIMPSON. 177 

While highlandmen hate tolls and taxes ; 
"While moorlan' herds like guid fat braxies; ' 
While terra firma, on her axis 

Diurnal turns, 
Cooint on a friend, in faith an' ^^ractice^ 

In RuBEKT Burns. 



POSTSCRIPT. 

My memory's no worth a preen;' 

I had amaist forgotten clean, 

Ye bade me write you what they mean 

By this new liglit, 
'Bout which our herds sae att ha'e beca 

Maist like to fight. 

in days when mankind were but callans ' 

At grammar, logic, an' sic talents, 

They took nae pains their speech to balance. 

Or rules to gi'e. 
But spak' their thoughts in plain, braid Lallans,* 

Like you or me. 

In thae auld times, they thought the moon* 
Just like a sark,^ or pair o' shoon,® 
Wore by degrees, till her last roon,^ 

Gaed past their viewing^ 
And shortly after she was done. 

They gat a new one. 

This past for certain undisputed ; 

It ne'er cam' i' their heads to doubt it» 

Till duels gat up an' wad confute it. 

An' ca'd it wrang; 
An' muckle din there was about it, 

Baith loud and lang. 

Some herds, well learned upo' the l)eulv, 
Wad threap* auld folk the thing misteuk; 
For 'twas the auld moon turned a neuk; 

An' out o' sight, 
An' backlins comin', to the leuk. 

She grew mair bright. 

' Sheep which died of disease, and were the herdsmen's perquisites 

* Pin. ^ Cliildren. "• Lowland words. 

* Shirt.. « Shoes. i Shre^l. 

* Argue. ^ 



11=.. 



3 



178 TO WILLIAM SIMPSON. 

This was denied, it was affirmed ; 

The herds an' hissels ' were alarmed ; 

The reverend grey-beards raved an' stormed* 

That beardless laddies 
Should think they better were informed 

Than their auld daddies 

Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks ; 

Frae words an' aiths to clours an' nicks ;' 

An' monie a fallow gat his licks 

Wi' hearty crunt;^ 
An' some, to learn them for their tricks, 

Were hanged and brunt» 

This game was played in monie lands, 
And auid-light caddies * bure sic hands, 
That faith, the youngsters took the sands 

Wi' nimble shanks, 
The lairds forbade, by strict commands, 

Sic bluidy pranks. 

But new-light herds gat sic a cowe,^ 
Folk thought them ruined stick- an- sto we, 
Till now amaist on every knowe 

Ye'll find ane placed; 
An' some their new-light fair avow 

Just quite barefaced. 

Nae doubt the auld-light flocks are bleatin'j 
Their zealous herds are vexed an' sweatiu' ; 
Mysel', I've even seen them greetin' ^ 

Wi' girnin' '' sjjite, 
To hear the moon sa sadly lied on 

By word an' write. 

But shortly they will cowe the louns ! 
Some auld-light herds in neebor towns 
Ai'e mind't, in things they ca' balloons. 

To tal<* a flight. 
An' stay a month amang the moons. 

An' see them right. 

Guid observation they will gi'e them ; 

An' when the auld moon's gaun to lea'e them. 

The hindmost shaird. they'll fetch it wi' them. 

Just i' their pouch. 
An' when the new-light billies " see them, 

I think they'll crouch ! 

* Flocks. ^ Blows and cuts. ' Dint. 

* Fellows. * Fright. * Crying. 
' Grinning. * FellowB. 



TO J. RANKlNE. 179 

Sae, ye obsei-ve that a' this clatter 

Is naething but a " moonshine matter; ** 

But though dull prose-folk Latin splatter 

In logic tulzie,' 
I hope we bardies ken some better 

Than mind sic brulzie.* 



EPISTLE TO J. RANKINE, 

ENCLOSING SOME POEMS. 

O KOUGii, rude, ready-witted Eankine, 
The wale * o' cocks for fun and drinkin' I 
There's mony godly folks are thinkin' 

Your dreams * an' tricks 
Will send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin' 

Straught to auld Nick's. 

Ye ha'e sae monie cracks an' cants,* 
And in your wicked, di'ucken rants, 
Ye mak' a devil o' the saunts. 

An' fill them fou;« 
And then their failings, flaws, an' wants 

Are a' seen through. 

Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it ! 

That holy robe, oh, dinna tear it ! 

Spare 't for their sakes wha aften wear it» 

The lads in black ! 
But your curst wit, when it comes near it, 

Rives 't aflP their back. 

Think, wicked sinner, wha ye ':^ skaithing ; ' 
It's just the blue-gown badge an' claithiug * 
O' saunts : tak' that, ye lea'e theux naething 

To ken them by, 
Frae ony unregenerate heathen 

Like you or I. 

' Quarrelling. ' Broils. ^ Chief. 

* A certain humorous dream of his was then making a noise in the 
tountry-side. 

^ Stories and tricks. * Make them tipsy. ' Injuiiug. 

* An allusion to the dress of the privileged beggars, or gaberiunzie men, 
who wore a blue dreaa. 



180 



TO J. RANKINE. 



I 've sent you liere some rhyming ware^ 
A' that I bargained for an' mair ; 
Sae when ye ha'e an hour to spare, 

I will expect 
Yon sang,' ye '11 sen 't wi' cannie care, 

And no neglect. 

Though, faith, sma' heart ha'e I to sing ! 
My Muse dow* scarcely spread her wing; 
I've played mysel a bounie spring, 

An' danced my fill; 
I 'd better gaen an' saired ^ the King 

At Bunker's Hill. 

'Twas ae night lately in my fun, 

I gaed a roving wi' the gun. 

An' brought a paitrick ■• to the grun,* 

A bonnie hen, 
And, as the twilight was begun, 

Thought nane wad Vqt%, 

The poor wee thing was little hurt ; 

I straikit ® it a wee for sport, 

Ne'er thinkin' they wad fash me for'ti 

But, de'il ma care ! 
Somebody tells the poacher court 

The hale affair. 

Some auld used hands had ta'en a uoteb 
That sic a hen had got a shot ; 
I was suspected for the plot ; 

I scorned to He ; 
So gat the whissle o' my groat, 

An' pay't the fee. 

But, by my gun, o' guns the wale. 
An' by my powther an' my hail. 
An' by my hen, an' by her tail, 

I vow an' swear ! 
The game shall pay o'er moor an' dale 

For this niest year. 

As soon 's the clockin' time is by. 
An' the wee pouts begun to cry. 
Lord, I'se ha'e sportin' by-an'-by 

For my gowd guinea : 
Though I should herd the buckskin kye* 

For 't, in Virginia. 



' A song he had promised to the Author. 

* Served. ■* Partridge. 

• Stroked. ' Best. 



Dare. 

Grround. 
Cattle. 



n 



THIRD EPISTLE TO J. LA PRAIA'. 183 

Trowth, they Lad miiclcle for to blame ! 
'Twas neither broken wing nor limb, 
But twa-three drajDS about the wame, 

Scarce through the feathers ; 
An' baith a yellow George to claim, 

And thole ' their blethers ! ' 

It pits me aye as mad's a hare ; 
So I can rhyme nor write nae mair; 
But pennyworths again is fair, 

When time 's expedient; 
Meanwhile I am, resj^ected Sir, 

Yours most obedient- 



TEIRD EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK 

Sept. 13, 1785. 

GuiD speed an' furder to you, Johnny, 
Guid health, hale ban's, an' weather bonny; 
Now when ye're nickan ^ down fu' canny 

The staff o' bread, 
May ye ne'er want a stoup o' bran'y 

To clear your head. 

May Boreas never thresh your rigs, 
Nor kick your rickles aff their legs, 
Sendin' the stuff o'er muirs an' hngga* 

Like drivin' wrack ; 
But may the tapmast grain that wags 

Come to the sack. 

I'm bizzie too, an' skelpin' * at it, 

But bitter, daudiu' * showers ha'e wat it, 

Sae my auld sturaj^ie pen I gat it, 

Wi' muckle wark. 
An' took my jocteleg' an' whatt it. 

Like ony dark. 

It's now twa month that I'm your debtor, 
For your braw, nameless, datelesr, letter, 
Abusin' me for harsh ill nature 

On holy men, 
While de'il a hair yoursel' ye're better. 

But mair profane. 

• Suffer. ^ Nonsense. * Cuttins. 

* Morasses. * Making hast^, ^ Wind-driven. 
' A knife. 



?■ 

182 TO THE REV. J. M'MATH. 

But let the kirk-folk ring their bells. 

Let's sing about our noble sel's; 

We '11 cry nae jads frae heathen liilla ' 

To help or roose us, 
But browster wives ^ an' whisky- stills, 

They are tlie Muses. 

Your friendship, sir, I wiuna quat it, 

An', if ye mak' objections at it. 

Then han' in nieve ^ some day we '11 knot it» 

An' witness take, 
An when wi' usquabae we've wat it 

It winna break. 

But if the beast and branks ^ be spared 
Till kye be gaun * withoiit the herd, 
An' a' the vittel in the yard, 

An' theekit ^ right, 
I mean your ingle- side to guard 

Ae winter night. 

Then muse-inspirin' aqua-vitce 

Shall make us baith sae blythe an' witty. 

Till ye forget ye're aukl an' gatty,'' 

An' be as canty 
As ye were nine year less than thretty, 

Sweet ane an' twenty! 

But stooks are cowpet ^ wi' the blast, 
An' now the sinn keeks ^ in the west, 
Then I maun rin amang the rest 

An' quat my chanter ; 
Sae I subscribe myself, in haste. 

Yours, Ra.b the Eanter. 



EMSTLE TO THE REV. JOHN M'MATH, 

i>NE OF THE PRESBYTEUIAN CLEEGY W]IO PllEACHED AGAINST THP 

" AULD-LIGIIT " DOCTRINES. 

Accompanied by a copy of " Holy Willie's Prayer." 

Sept. 17, 1785. 

While at the stook the shearers cower, 
To shun the bitter blaudin' '" shower, 

' The Muses on Mount Parnassus. ^ Ale-Louse wives. 

•' Fist. •* Bri.l'-s. » Going. 

° Thatched. ' Feeble. « Tumbled over. 

« Sun blinks. •* Pelting. 



M 



1-=^ 



TO THE REV. J. M'MATK 188 

Or in gulravage riiinin' scower ' 

To pass the time, 
To you I dedicate the hour 

In idle rhyme. 

My Musie, tired wi' mony a sonnet 

On gown, an' ban', an' douse bhick bonnet, 

Is grown right eerie"'' now she's done it, 

Lest they should blair.e her. 
An' rouse their holy thunder on it 

And anatheui her. 

I own 'twas rash, an' rather hardy, 
That I, a simple, country bardie, 
Should meddle wi' a pack sae sturdy, 

Wha, if they ken me, 
Can easy, wi' a single wordie, 

Lowse hell upon me. 

But I gae mad at their grunaces, 
Their sig'.iiu', cantiu', grace-jDroud faces, 
Their three-mile prayers, an hauf-niile graces. 

Their raxin' ^ conscience, 
"Whase greed, revenge, and pride disgraces 

Waur nor their nonsense. 

There's Ga^vn,'' misca't waur than a beast, 
Wha has mair honour in his breast 
Than mony scores as guid's the priest 

Wha sae abus't him. 
An' may a bard no ci-ack his jest 

What way they 've nsc't himP 

See him, the jjoor man's friend in need, 
The gentleman in word an' deed, 
An' shall his fame an' honour bleed 

By worthless skellums,^ 
An' not a Muse erect her liead 

To cowe the heliums j* ® 

O Pope, had I thy satire's darts, 
To gi'e the rascals their deserts ! 
I'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts, 

An' tell aloud 
Their jugglin' hocus-pocus arts 

To cheat the crowd. 

• Run riotously. ^ Timid. •» Elastic. 

* Gavin Hamilton, Esq, * Wretches. * Feliowa. 



m 



184 TO THE REV. J. M'MATH. 

God knowa I'm no the thing I shonld be^ 
If or am I even the thing I could be, 
But twenty times, I rather would be 

An atheist clean. 
Than tinder gospel colours hid Le 

Just for a screen. 

A'" honest man may like a alaaa. 
An honest rnan may hke a lass, 
But mean revenge, an' malice fause 

He'll still disdaiiij 
An' then cry zeal for go.sf^el laws, 

Like some we ken. 

They take religion in their mouth ; 
They talk o' mercy, grace, an' truth. 
For what? — to gie their malice skoutli' 

Oq some puir wight, 
An' hunt him do%vn, o'er right an' ruth* 

To ruin straight. 

All hail, Religion ! maid di^-ine ! 
Pardon a muse sae mean as mine. 
Who, in her rough, imperfect line 

Thus daurs to name thee; 
To stigmatize false friends of thine 

Can ne'er defame thee. 

Though blotch't an foul wi' mony a stain. 

An' far unv.oilhy of thy train. 

With trembling voice I tune my strain 

To join with those 
Who boldly danr thy cause maintain 

In spite o' foes : 

In spite o' crowds, in spite o' mobs. 
In spite o' underminini^ jobs. 
In spite o' dark banditti stabs 

At worth an' merit, 
By scoundrels, even wi' holy rolxis. 

But hellish spirit. 

O Ayr! my df-ar, my native ground, 
Within thy presbyterial bound, 
A candid li'ueral band is found 

Of i>ublic teachers. 
As men, as Christians too, renowned. 

An' manly preachers, 

' .Scope. 



i 



TO JOHN GOUDIE. 185 

Sir, in tliat circle you are named ;' 

Sir, in tliat circle ymi are famed ; 

An' some, by whom your doctrine's blamed, 

(Which gi'es you honour,) 
Even, sir, by them your heart's esteemed, 

An' winning manner. 

Pardon this freedom I have ta'en, 
An' it" impertinent I've been, 
Impute it not, good sir, in ane 

Whase heart ne'er wranged ye» 
But to his utmost would befriend 

Ought that belanged t'ye. 



EPISTLE TO JOHN GOL'DIE, KILMAKNOCK. 

ON THE PUBLICATION 0)1 HIS KSSAYS.* 

O GoUDiE ! terror of the Whigs,* 
Dread of black coats and reverend wigs. 
Sour Bigotry, on her last legs, 

Girniii',^ looks back, 
Wishin' the ten Egyptian pjlagues 

Wad seize you quick. 

Poor gapin', glowrin' Superstition, 
Waes me! she's in a sad condition; 
Fie ! bring Black Jock,* her state jjhysiclan. 

To see her water : 
Alas ! there's ground o' great suspicion 

She'll ne'er get better. 

Arvld Orthodoxy lang did grapiJe, 
But now she's got an unco ripple ;' 

' Mr. M'Math preached against the severe Calvinistic doctrines called 

the "Auld Li^'ht." 

' Mr. John Golflie, or Gouflie, a tradesman in Kilmarnock, had pub- 
lished a series of essays relating to the authority of the Holy Scriptures. 
It was the x^ublication of tlie second edition of thLs work in ITfc.'J which 
called forth thii epistle from Bums. 

^ The " Auld Church" portion of the Kirk of Scotland, known still 
to the religious world as high CalvinLsts. They held the terriljle doc- 
trine of a particular election by God of some to be saved and others 
to be for ever lost ; a superstition in an irrevocable de:-:tiny somewhat 
resembling that of the he^ithen Greeks of old. The "New Lif,ht" 
believen* had more r?tional and worthier views of the Divine justice and 
goodness. 

* Grinniri^r. * A PresVjjterian clergyman, the Rev. J. Ru-ssell. 

' Fain in back. 



fil 



a 



186 TO GAVIN HAMILTON. 

Haste, gi'e her name up i' the chapel. 
Nigh unto death ; 

See, how she fetches at the thrapple,^ 
An' gasps for breath I 

Enthusiasm's past redemption, 

Gaen in a galloping consumption ; 

Not a' the quacks, wi' a' their gumption, 

Will ever mend her. 
Her feeble pulse gi'es strong presumption 

Death soon will end her. 

"Tis you and Taylor '^ are the chief 
Wha are to blame for this mischief, 
But gin the Lord's ain folks gat leave, 

A toom ^ tar-barrel, 
An' twa red peats wad send relief, 

An' end the quai-reL 



EPISTLE TO GAVm HAMILTON, ESQ.,* 

EECOMMENDING A BOY. 

MosyviUe, May 3, 17<s6u 
I HOLD it, Sir, my bounden duty 
To warn you hovv that Master Tootie, 

Alias, Laird M'Gaun,* 
Was here to hire yon lad away 
'Bout whom ye spak' the tither day, 

And wad ha'e done 't aff han' ; 
But lest he learn the callau^ tricks. 

As, faith, I muckle doubt him. 
Like scrapin' out auld Crummie's '' nick^ 
And telliu' lies about them : 
As heve then, I'd have then, 

Your clerkship he should sair. 
If sae be, ye may be 
Not fitted other where. 

» Throat. 

■-* Dr. Taylor, of Norwich, author of "The Scripture Doctrine of 
Original Siu," &c. 

■^ Empty. 

'• Mr. Hamilton was a solicitor at Mauchline. He was much opposed 
to the "Auld Light," or high Calvinistic principles of the Scottish Kirk 
of that day. 

' Tootie was a cheating cattle dealer, who was in the habit of cutting; 
the nicks or markings from the horns of cattle, to disguise their age, and 
obtain a higher price for them. 

« Boy. '' The cow. 



1 



INVITATION TO MR. JOHN KENNEDY. 187 

Altiiougli I say't, he's gleg' enough, 
And 'bout a house that's rude and rough. 

The boy might learn to swear ; 
But then wi' you he '11 be sae taught. 
And get sic fair example straught, 

I haena ony fear. 
Ye '11 catechise him every quirk, 
And shore '^ him weel wi' hell ; 
And gar ^ him follow to the kirk — 
Aye when ye gang yoursel'. 
If ye then, maun be then 

Frae hame this comin' Friday; 
Then please, sir, to lea'e, sir, 
The orders wi' your lady. 

My word of honour I ha'e gi'en, 
In Paisley John's that night at e'en. 

To meet the warld's worm ;"* 
To try to get the twa to gree, 
And name the airles and the fee, 

In legal mode and form : 
1 ken he weel a sneck can draw,* 

When simple bodies let him ; 
And if a devil be at a', 

In faith he 's sure to get him. 

To phrase you, and praise you, 

Ye ken your laureate scorns : 

The prayer still you share still. 

Of grateful Minstrel Burns. 



POETICAL INVITATION TO MR. JOHN KENNEDY, 

ACCOMPANIED BY A COPY OF " THE COTTER's SATURDAY NIGHT." 

Now Kennedy, if foot or horse 

E'er bring you in by Mauchline Corse, ® 

Lord, man, there 's lasses there wad force 

A hei'mit's fancy; 
And down the gate, in faitli they 're worse, 

And mair unchancy. 

But, as I 'm sayin', please step to Duw's, 
And taste sic gear as Johnnie brews, 
Till some bit callant ^ bring me news 

That you are there ! 
And if we dinna haud a bouze 

I'se ne'er drink mair. 

* Sharp. -■ Tin-eaten. ^ Make. ■" Money-seeker nr grub 

' Can take aclvnutage. ^ Cross. '' Boy. 



188 TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 

It 's no I like to sit and swallow, 
Then like a swine to puke and wallowj 
But gi'e me just a true good fellow, 

Wi' right ingine,' 
And spunkie,'' ance to make us mellow. 

And then we '11 shine. 

Now, if ye 're ana o' warld's folk, 
Wha rate the wearer by the cloak, 
And sklent^ on poverty their joke, 

Wi' bitter sneer, 
Wi' you no friendship will I troke * 

Nor cheap nor dear. 

But if, as I 'm informed weel, 
Ye hate, as ill 's the very de'il, 
The flinty heart that canna feel — 

Come, sir, here's tao youl 
Hae, there 's my haun, I wish j^ vveel. 

And guid be wi' you. 



EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND." 

TJ/ay— , 178S, 

I lANG ha'e thought, my youthfu' friend, 

A something to have sent you, 
Though it should serve nae other end 

Than just a kind memento ; 
But how the subject theme may gang. 

Let time and chance determine ; 
Perhaps it may turn out a sang, 

Perhaps turn out a sermon. 

Ye '11 try the world soon, my lad. 

And, Andrew dear, believe me, 
Ye '11 find mankind an unco squad, 

And muckle they may grieve ye : 
For care and trouble set your thought. 

E'en when your end's attained ; 
And a' your views may come to nought, 

Where every nerve is strained. 

' Genius. * Spirit. 

» Throw ■• Exchange. 

* Andrew Aiken7 the son of tlie Poet's friend, Robert Aiken, to whom 
Burns inscribed "The Cotter's Saturday Night." Young Aiken rose to 
distinction in after yeai«. 



TO A YOUNO FRIEND. 189 

I '11 no say men are villains a' ; 

The real, hardened wicked, 
Wha ha'e nae check but human law. 

Are to a few restricted : 
But och, mankind are unco weak, 

An' little to be trusted ; 
If self the wavering balance shake, 

It 'b rarely right adjusted ! 

Yet they wlia fa' in fortune's strife. 

Their fate we should na censure. 
For still th' important end of life 

They equally may answer ; 
A man may ha'e an honest heart, 

Though poortith' hourly stare him; 
A man may tak' a neebor's part, 

Yet nae ha'e cash to spare him. 

Aye free, aff ban' your story tell. 

When wi' a bosom crony ; 
But still keep something to yoursel' 

Ye scarcely tell to ony. 
Conceal yoursel' as weel 's ye can 

Era critical dissection ; 
But keek '^ through every other man, 

Wi' sharpened, sly inspection. 

The sacred lowe ^ o' weel-placed love, 

Luxuriantly indulge it ; 
But never tempt th' illicit rove. 

Though naething should divulge it; 
I wave tiie quantum o' the sin, 

The hazard of concealing : 
But och ! it hardens a' within, 

And petrifies the feeling ! 

To catch dame Fortune's golden smilo- 

Assiduous wait upon her; 
And gather gear ])y every wile 

That 's justiiiod by honour; 
Not for to hide it in a hedge, 

Nor for a train attendant; 
But for the glorious privilege 

Of being independent. 

The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip 

To baud the wretch in order ; 
But where ye feel your honour grip, 

Let that aye be your border ; 

Povert7. ' Peep. ^ Flazuei. 



D 



190 TO JAMES SIrlTTH. 

Its slightest touches, instant pause — ■ 

Debar a' side pretences; 
And resohitely keep its laws. 

Uncaring consequences. 

The Great Creator to revere. 

Must sure become the creature ; 
But still the preaching cant forbear. 

And e'en the rigid feature : 
Yei ne'er with wits profane to range. 

Be complaisance extended ; 
An atheist's laugh 's a poor exchange 

For Deity offended! 

When ranting round in pleasure's ring, 

Eeligion may be blinded ; 
Or if she gi'e a random sting, 

It may be little minded ; 
But when on life we 're tempest-driven, 

A conscience but a canker — 
A correspondence fixed wi' Heaven 

Is sure a noble anchor ! 

Adieu, dear amiable youth ! 

Tour heart can ne'er be wanting : 
May Prudence, Fortitude, and Truth, 

Erect your bi'ow undaunting ! 
. In ploughman phrase, " God send you speed," 

Still daily to grow wiser ! 
And may you better reck the i-ede,' 

Than ever did th' adviser ! 



EPISTLE TO JAMES SMITH.' 

" Friendship ! mysterious cement of the soul I 
Sweet' ner of life, and solder of society! 
I owe thee much ! " — Blair. 



Dear Smith, the sleest, patikie^ thief, 
That e'er attempted stealth or rief. 
Ye surely ha'e some warlock-breef 

Owre human hearts; 
For ne'er a bosom yet was prief * 

Against your arts. 

' Advice. 

' James Smith was a merchaut at Mauchline, and an early friend ol 
Burns. 

3 Gunning. * P''oof. 



Qi 



TO JAMES SMITH. 191 

For me, I swear by sun an' moon. 
And every star that Ijlinks aboon, 
Ye Ve cost me twenty pair of shoon 

Just gaun to see you; 
And every ither pair that 's done, 

Mair ta'en I 'm wi' ycu. 

That auld capricious carliii, Nature, 
To mak' amends for scrimpit stature, 
She 's turned you aff', a lumian creature 

On her first plan ; 
And in her freaks, on every feature 

She 's wrote, " The Man." 

Just now I Ve ta'en the fit o' rhyme, 
My barmie noddle's working prime. 
My fancy yerkit up sublime 

Wi" hasty summon: 
Ha'e ye a leisure moment's time 

To hear what 's comin' P 

Some rhyme a neibor's name to lash ; 

Some rhyme (vain thought !) for needfu' cash.; 

Some rhyme to court the countra cla&h. 

An' raise a din ; 
For me, an aim I never fash ; 

I rhyme for fun. 

The star that rules my luckless lot, 

Has fated me the russet coat. 

An' damned my fortune to the groatj 

But in requit, 
Has blest me wi' a random shot 

O' countra wit. 

This while my notion's ta'en a sHent# 
To try my fate in guid black prent ; 
But still, the mair I 'm that way bent, 

Something cries " Hoolie t 
I rede you, honest man, tak' tent ! '■* 

Ye '11 shaw your foUy. 

••* There 's ither poets much your betters, 
Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, 
Ha'e thought they had ensured their debtors, 

A' future ages ; 
Now moths deform in shapeless tatters 

Their unknown pages." 

Slant. • Obtb. 



n 



192 TO JAMES SMITH 

Then fareweel hopes o' laurel-boiigha, 
To o-arland my poetic brows ! 
Heucelbrth I'll rove where busy ploughs 

Are whistling thrang. 
An' teach the lanely heights an' howes 

My rustic sang. 

I '11 wander on, with tentless ' heed 
How never-halting moments speed, 
Till fate shall snap the brittle thi-ead ; 

Then, all unknown, 
I '11 lay me with th' inglorious dead, 

Forgot and gone ! 

But why o' death begin a tale ? 

Just now we 're living, sound and hale, 

Then top and maintop crowd the sail, 

Heave care owre side ! 
And large, before enjoyment's gale, 

Let 's tak' the tide. 

This life, sae far 's I understand, 
Is a' enchanted fairy -land. 
Where pleasure is the magic wand 

That, wielded right, 
Mak's hours like minutes, hand in hand. 

Dance by fu' Hght. 

The magic wand, then, let us wield ; 
For, ance that five-an'-forty's speeled. 
See crazy, weary, joyless eild, 

Wi' wrinkled face, 
Comes hostin', hirplin', owre the field, 

Wi' creepin' pace. 

When ance life's day draws near the gloamin*. 
Then fareweel vacant, careless roamin' ; 
An' fareweel cheerfu' tankards foamin'. 

An' social noise; 
An' fareweel, dear deluding woman, 

The joy of joys ! 

O Life ! how pleasant is thy morning. 
Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning t 
Cold-passing Caution's lesson scorning. 

We frisk away. 
Like schoolboys, at th' expected warning 

To joy and play. 

' Careless. 



o 



TO JAMES SMITH. 193 

"We wander there, we wander here. 
We eye the rose upon the brier, 
Unmindful that the thorn is near, 

Among the leaves ; 
And though the puny wound appear,^ 

Short while it gi-ieves. 

Some, lucky, find a flowery spot, 
For which they never toiled nor swat; 
They drink the sweet and eat the fat, 

But care or pain; 
And, haply, eye the barren hut 

With high disdain. 

With steady aim some Fortune chase ; 

Keen hope does every sinew brace ; 

Through fair, through foul, they urge the race, 

And seize the prey ; 
Then cannie, in some cozie place. 

They close the day. 

And others, like your humble servan', 
Poor wights ! nae rules nor roads observin' ; 
To right or left eternal swervin'. 

They zig-zag on ; 
Till curst with age, obscure and starvin', 

They aften groan. 

Alas ! what bitter toil an' straining— _ 
But truce with peevish, poor complaining! 
Is Foi-tune's fickle Luna waning ? 

E'en let her gang ! • 
Beneath what light she has remaining 

Let's sing our sang. 

My pen I here fling to the door, 

And kneel, " Ye Powers ! " and warm implore^ 

" Though I should wander Terra o'er, 

In all her climes, 
Grant me but this, I ask no more, 

A rowth ' o' rhymes. 

' Gi'e dreeping roasts to countra lairds, 
Till icicles hing frae their beards ; 
Gi'e fine braw claes to fine fife-guards 

And maids of honour; 
And yUl an' whiskey gi'e to cairds,'^ 

Until they sconner.^ 

• Plenty. ^ Tinkers. « Loath ifc 



194 TO JAMES SMITH. 

** A title, Dempster merits it; 
A garter gi'e to Willie Pitt ; 
Gi'e -wealth to some be-ledgered cit, 

In cent, per cent.} 
But gi'e me real, sterling wit, 

And I 'm content. 

*• While ye are pleased to keep me hale, 
I '11 sit down o'er my scanty meal, 
Be 't water-brose, or muslin-kail,' 

Wi' cheerful face. 
As lang 's the Muses dinna fail 

To say the gi-ace." 

An anxious e'e I never throws 
Behint my lug, or by my nose ; 
I jouk "^ beneath misfortune's blows 

As weel 's I may ; 
Sworn foe to sorrow, care, and prose, 

I rhym.e away. 

Oh, ye douce folk, that live by rule, 
Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool, 
Compared wi' you — oh, fool ! fool ! fool 1 

How much unlike ! 
Your hearts are just a standing pool, 

Tour lives a dyke ! 

Nae hare-brained, sentimental traces. 
In your unlettered, nameless faces ; 
In arioso trills and graces 

Ye never stray. 
But, gravissimo, solemn basses 

Ye hum away. 

Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye 're wise i 
Nae ferly ^ though ye do despise 
Tlie hairum-scairum, ram-stam boys. 

The rattling squad: 
I see you upward cast your eyes — 

Ye ken the road. 

Whilst I — but I shall hand me there — 
Wi' you I '11 scarce gang ony where : 
Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair. 

But quit my sang, 
Content wi' you to mak' a pair, 

Whare'er I gang. 

* Broth made without meat. "^ Stoop. 

' Wonfler 



lir'ife 



196 



EPISTLE TO MR. M'ADAM, OF CRAIGSNGILLAN, 

ON RECEIVING AN OBLIGING LETTER FROM MR. M'ADAM. 

Sir, o'er a gill I gat your card, 

I trow' it made me proud ; 
" See wha tak's notice o' the bard l" 

I lap* and cry fu' loud. 

Now de'il-ma-care about their jaw. 

The senseless, gawky* million; 
I '11 cock my nose aboon them a' — 

I 'm roosed^ by Craigengillan ! 

*Twas noble, sir, 'twas like yoursel*. 

To grant your high protection : 
A great man's smile, ye ken fu' well, 

Is aye a blest infection. 

Though by his banes wha in a tub' 

Matched Macedonian Sandy ! ^ 
On my ain legs, through dii't and dub, 

I independent stand aye. 

And when those legs to guid warm kail^' 

Wi' welcome canna bear me ; 
A lee dike-side," a sybow tail,® 

And barley-scone shall cheer me. 

Heaven spare you lang to kiss the breath 

0' mony flowery simmers ! 
And bless your bonny lasses baith — 

I 'm tauld thej'^ 're lo'esome kimmers ! '"^ 

And God bless young Dunaskin's laird, 

The blossom of our gentry ! 
And may he wear an auld man's beard, 

A credit to his country ! 

' Vow. * Leaped. ^ Silly. 

* Praised. * Diogenes. 

• Alexander the Great. Sandy is the Scotch ahbreviatinn foi Alexander. 
' Broth. ' A shady wall-side. * The young onion. 

* Heart-enticing creatures. 



O p 



196 



EPISTLE TO MAJOB LOGAN, 

Hail, thairm * inspirin' rattlin' Wiliie !■■* 
Though Fortune's road be rough and hilly. 
To every fiddling, rhyming billie, 

We never heed, 
But tak' it like the unbacked filly, 

Proud o' her speed. 

When idly goavan ^ whiles we saunter, 

Yirr, Fancy barks, awa' we canter, 

Up hill, down brae, till some mischanter,* 

Some black bog-hole, 
Airests Tis, then the scaith and banter 

We 're forced to thole.* 

Hale be your heart ! hale be your fiddle ! 
Lang may your elbuck jink and diddle, ^ 
To cheer you thi'ough the weary widdle' 

O' this wild warl'. 
Until you on a cummock driddle^ 

A grey-haired carl. 

Come wealth, come poortith,* late or soon. 
Heaven send your heart-strings aye in tuna» 
And screw your temper-pins aboon, 

A fifth or mair. 
The melancholious, lazy ci'oon*" 

0' cankrie care ! 

May still your life from day to day 
ISTae lente largo in the play. 
But allegretto forte gay 

Harmonious flow : 
A sweeping, kindling, bauld strathspey—* 

Encore ! Bravo ! 

A blessing on the cheery gang 
Wha dearly like a jig or sang. 
And never think o' right and wrang 

By square and rule, 
But as the clegs " o' feeling stang 

Are wise or fool ! 

' Fiddle-string. ' Major Logaa was a first-rate violinist. 

^ Walking aimlessly. * Mishap. ^ Bear. 

* Elbow dodge and jerk. 

' Struggle. These three lines also occur in the Second Epistle to Daviak 

* Cxitii you liobble on a staff. ^ Poverty. 
»• Drone. " Gadllies. 



~1H 



TO VA TOR LOGAN. 197 

My hand- waled' cavse keep liard in chase 
The harpy, hoodock,''* pnrse-proud race, 
Wha count on poortith as disgrace — 

Their tuneless hearts ! 
May fireside discords jar a bass 

To a' their parts ! 

But come, your hand, my careless brither — > 
I' the ither warl', if there 's anither — 
And that there is I 've little swither * 

About the matter — 
We cheek for chow* shall jog thegither, 

I 'se ne'er bid better. 

We 've faults and failings — granted clearly, 

"We 're frail backsliding mortals merely, 

Eve's bonny squad, priests wyte^ them sheerly," 

For our grand fa' ; 
But still — but still— I like them dearly— 

God bless them a' ! 

Ochon ! for poor Castalian drinkers, 
"When they fa' foul o' earthly jinkers,' 
The witching, cursed, delicious blinkers* 

Ha'e put me hyte, ^ 
And gart me weet my waukrife w inkers, •* 

Wi' girnin'n spite. 

But by yon moon ! — and that 's high swearin*— 
And evei-y star within my hearin' ! 
And by her een wha was a dear ane 

I '11 ne'er forget ; 
I hope to gi'e the jads '^ a clearin' 

In fail* plav ret. 

My loss I mourn, but not repent it, 
I'll seek my pursie whare I tint'* it, 
Ance to the Indies I were wonted. 

Some cantrip*^ hour. 
By some sweet elf I '11 yet be dinted, 

Then, Vive V amour ! 

' Chosen. * Money-loving. Donbta 

* Jowl. * Blame. ® Sorely. 
' Sprightly girls. * Pretty girls. * Mad. 

• Sleepy eyelida, " Grrinniug. ''S Lasses 
** Lost. " Witching. 



,.* 



lf)8 TO THE GUIDWIFE OF WAUCHOFB HOUSiL 

Fades vies haisemains respectueuses 

To sentimental sister Susie, 

And lionest Lucky ; no to roose ' ye, 

Ye may be proud, 
That sic a couple Fate allows ye 

To grace your blood. 

Nae raair at present can I measure, 

And trouth my rhymin' ware's nae treasure; 

But when in Ayr, some half-hour's leisure. 

Be 't li^ht, be 't dark, 
Sir Bard will do himsel' the pleasure 

To call at Park. 

Egbert Burns. 
Moisyiel, Oct. 30, 1786. 



TO THE GUIDWIFE* OF WAUCHOPE HOUSE. 

GuiDWIFE, 

I mind it weel, in early date. 

When I waa beardless, young, and blate,* 

And first could thrash the barn, 
Or hand a yokin' at the pleugh ; 
And though forfoughten'' sair enuegh. 

Yet unco proud to learn : 
When first amang the yellow corn 

A man I i-eckoned was, 
And wi' the lave* ilk merry morn 
Coidd rank my rig and lass. 
Still shearing, and clearing. 

The tither stocked raw, 
Wi' claivers and haivers* 
Wearing the day awa'. 

Even then a wish, (I mind its power,) 
A wish that to my latest hour 

Shall strongly heave my breast — 
That I, for poor auld Scotland's sake, 
Some usefu' plan or beuk could make, 

Or sing a sang at least. 

• Praise. 

^ Mrs. Scott, of Wauchope, 'was a lady of great taste and talent. She 
was niece to Mrs. Cockburn, who wi'ote a version of " Flowers of the 
Forest." 

' Bashful, ' Fatigued. * Rest. 

' I<!!c stories and gossip. 



P 



^ 

TO TUB GUIDWIFH OF WAUCHOPE HOUSE. 199 



The rough burr-tliistle, spreadiug wide 

Amang the bearded bear, ' 
I turned the weeder clips aside, 
And spared the symbol dear : 
iNo nation, no station, 

Mv envy e'er could raise, 
A Scot still, but blot still, 
I knew nae higher praise. 

But still the elements o' sang, 

In formleps jumble, right and wr«ng. 

Wild floated in my brain ; 
Till on that hairst"'' I said before. 
My partner in the merry core. 

She roused the forming strain : 
I see her yet, the sonsie quean,* 

That lighted up my jingle. 
Her witching smile, her pauky een. 
That garf my heart-strings tingle 
I fired, inspired, 

At every kindling keek,' 
But bashing, and dashing, 
I feared aye to speak. 

Health to the sex ! ilk guid chiel" sa.yg, 
Wi' merry dance in winter days, 
And we to share in common : 
The gust o' joy, the balm of woe, 
The saul o' life, the heaven below, 

Is rapture-giving woman. 
Ye surly surnphs,' who hate the name. 

Be mindfu' o' your mither ; 
She, honest woman, may think shamo 
That ye 're connected with her. 
Xe 're wae* men, ye 're nae men. 

That slight the lovely dears; 
To shame ye, disclaim ye, 
Ilk honest birkie^ swears. 

For you, no bred to bam and byre, 
Wha sweetly tune the Scottish lyre, 

Thanks to you for your line : 
The marled plaid ye kindly spare 
By me should gratefully be ware ; *• 

'Twad please me to the nine. 

Barley. * Harvest. ' Comely 

Made. s Glancs. 6 Fellow. 

Blockheada " Woeful. » Fellow, 
Worn 



4n 



r^ n 



200 TO WILLTAM CREECK 

I 'd be mair vauntie' o' my hap,* 
Douce hingin' ^ owre my curple. 
Than ony ermine ever lap. 
Or proud imjierial purple. 

Fareweel, then, lang heai, then. 

And plenty be your fa' ; 
May losses and crosses 
Ne'er at your hallan^ ca' ! 



EPISTLE TO WILLIAM CREECH^ 

WRITTEN AT SELKIRK. 

Atjld chuckle Reekie's ® sair distrest, 
Down droops her ance weel-bumisht cres^, 
Nae joy her bonnie buskit nest 

Can yield ava, 
Her darling bird that she lo'es best, 

Willie's awa' ' 

Oh, Willie was a witty wight, 
And had :>' things an unco slight;' 
Auld Beekie aye he keepit tight 

An' trig an' braw : 
But now they '11 busk her like a fright, 

Willie's awa' ! 

The stiffest o' them a' he bowed ; 
The bauldest o' them a' he cowed; 
They durst nae mair than he allowed, 

That was a law : 
We 've lost a birkie ^ weel worth gowd, — 

Willie's awa' ! 

Now gawkies," tawpies,'" gowks, and fools, 
Frae colleges and boarding-schools, 
May sj rout like simmer puddock-stools " 

In glen or shaw ; 
He wha could brush them down to mools," 

Willie's awa' ! 

* Proud. ' Covering. ' Bi-avely hanging. 

* Porch. 

^ The most celebrated publisher in Edinburgh. He published the 
ft^oi-ks of all the best Scottish authors known at the close of the eighteenth 
century. He was himself a writer. He published "Edinburgh Fugitive 
Pieces " in 1815. 

* E'linburgh. '' Knowledge. * Fellow. 

9 Simpletona. '" Sluts. " Toadstool*. 

« The dust. 



a 



TO WILLIAM CREECH. gOl 

The brethren c' the Oommerce-Chaumer' 
May mourn their loss wi' doolt'a' clamour; 
He was a dicticnar' and grammar 

Amang them a'; 
I fear they '11 now male' mony a stammer, 

Willie's awa' ! 

Nae mair we see his levee door * 
Philosophers and poets pour, 
And toothy critics by the score. 

In bloody raw ! 
The adjutant o' a' the core, 

Willie's awa' ! 

Now worthy Gregory's Latin face, 
Tytler's and Greenfield's modest grace ; 
Mackenzie, Stewart, sic a brace 

As Kome ne'er saw ; 
They a' maun meet some ither place, 

Willie's awa' ! 

Poor Burns— e'en Scotch drink canna quicken. 
He cheeps like some bewildered chicken, 
Scared frae its minnie and the cleckin' 

By hoodie-craw ; 
Griefs gi'en his heart an unco kickin', — 

Willie's awa' ! 

Now every sour-mou'd girnin' blellum,' 
And Calvin's fock, are fit to fell him ; 
And self- conceited critic skellum ■• 

His quill may draw; 
He wha could brawhe ward their bellum,* 

Willie's awa' ! 

CTp wimpling, stately Tweed I 've sped, 
And Eden scenes on crystal Jed, 
And Ettrick banks now roaring red. 

While tempests bla,w ; 
But every joy and pleasure's fied, — 

WilUe's awa' ! 

May I be slander's common speech ; 
A text for infamy to preach ; 
And lastly, streekit out to bleach 

In winter snaw; 
When I forget thee, Willie Creech, 

Though far awa' ! 
At Edinburgh. 
' Mr. Creech gave breakfasts to his authors— they were called C\e 
Levees. 

^ Idle chatterer. * Worthless fellow. * Nousense. 



ff ^ 



202 TO DR. BLACKLOCK. 

May never wicked fortune touzle him I 
May never wicked men bamboozle him \ 
Until a pow as auld's Methusaleni 

He canty claw ! 
Then to the blessed New Jerusalem, 

Fleet wing awa ! 



TO DR. blaoklock:.' 

Ellisland, October 21, 1780. 

"Wow, but your letter made me vauntie ! 
And are ye hale, and week and cantie ? 
I kenned it still your wee bit jauntie 

Wad bring ye to : 
Lord send you aye as weel 's I want ye, 

And then ye '11 do. 

The ill -thief blaw the Heron'' south ! 
And never drink be near his drouth ! 
He tald myself, by word o' mouth, 

He 'd tak' my letter ; 
I lippened ^ to the chiel in trouth, 

And bade •* nae better. 

But aiblins honest Master Heron 
Had at the time some dainty fair one, 
To ware* his theologic care on, 

And holy study ; 
And tired o' sauls to waste his lear ® on, 

E'en tried the body. 

But what d'ye think, my trusty fier ? ' 
I 'm turned a ganger^ — Peace be here ! 
Parnassian queens, I fear, I fear 

Ye '11 now disdain me, 
And then my fifty pounds a year 

Will little gain me. 

' A blind poet, whose encouragement induced Biuns to go to Edinburgh 
Instead of to the West Indies, and to ti-y his fortune as a poet. 
■■* Mr. Heron, author of a " History of Scotland," 1800. 
^ Ti'usted. * Deserved. * Spend. 

* Learning. '' Friend. * Exciseman. 



TO DR. BLACK LOCK. 203 

Ye glaiket,' gleesome, dainty damies, 
Wha by Castalia's wimplin' streamies, 
Lowp,''' sing, and lave your pretty limbiea. 

Ye ken, ye ken. 
That Strang necessity supreme is 

'Mang sons o' men. 

I ha'e a wife and twa wee laddies, 

They maun ha'e brose and brats o' duddies ; * 

Te ken yoursel's my heart right proud is, 

I need na vaunt. 
But I '11 sned besoms * — thraw saugh woodies,* 

Before they want. 

Lord help me through this warld o' care I 
I 'm weary sick o't late and air ! 
Not but I ha'e a richer share 

Than mony ithers ; 
But why should ae man better fare. 

And a' men brithers P 

Come, Firm Resolve, take thou the van. 
Thou stalk o' carl- hemp * in man ! 
And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan 

A lady fair ; 
Wha does the utmost that he can, 

Will whyles do mair. 

But to conclude my silly rhyme, 

(I 'm scant o' verse, and scant o' time) 

To make a happy fireside clime 

To weans and wife. 
That 's the true pathos and sublime 

Of human Ufe. 

My compliments to sister Beckie ; 
And eke the same to honest Luckie, 
I wat she is a dainty chuckie. 

As e'er tread clay 1 
And gratefully, my guid auld cockie, 

I 'm yours for aye. 

Egbert Burks. 



* Foolish. - Jump, » Rags of clothes. 

• Cut brooms. • T\vistwiiIow-witbe8. ^ The seed-bearingheino. 



204 



LETTER TO JAMES TAIT, OF GLENCONITER. 

AuLD comrade dear, and brither sinner. 

How's a' the folk about Glenconner? 

How do ye this blae eastlin' win'. 

That's hke to blaw a body blin' ? 

For me, my faculties are frozen. 

My dearest member nearly dozen'. 

I 've sent you here, by Johnnie Simsoo, 

Twa sage philosophers to ghmpse on ! 

Eeid, wi' his sympathetic feeling, 

An' Smith, to common sense appealing. 

Philosophers have fought an' wrangled. 

An' meikle Grecli. an' Latin mangled. 

Till wi' their logic-jargon tired, 

An' in the depth of science mired. 

To common sense they now ajipeal. 

What wives an' wabsters ' see and feel. 

But, hark ye, frien' ! I charge you strictly. 

Peruse them, an' return them quickly. 

For now I 'm grown sae cursed douce, 

I pray an' ponder butt the house ; 

My shins, my lane,'' I there sit roastiu*. 

Perusing Bunyan, Brown, an' Boston; 

Till by-an'-by, if I hand on, 

I '11 grunt a real gospel-groan : 

Already I uegin to try it. 

To cast my een up Hke a pyet, 

When by the gun she tumbles o'er. 

Fluttering an' gasping in her gore : 

Sae shortly you shall see me bright, 

A burning an' a shining light. 

My heart-warm love to guid auld Glen, 
The ace an' wale ' of honest men : 
When bending down wi' auld grey hairs, 
Beneath the load of years and cares. 
May He who made him still support him. 
An' views beyond the grave comfort him! 
His worthy family, far and near, 
God bless them a' wi' grace and gear ! 

My auld schoolfellow, preacher Willie, 
The manly tar, my mason Billie, 
An' Auchenbay, I wish him joy ; 
If he's a parent, lass or hoy, 

> Wtavers. * Alone. * Choice^ 



TO R. GRAHAM. 205 

May lie be dad, and Meg the mitlier. 

Just five-aiid- forty years thegither! 

An' no forgetting wabster Charlie, 

I 'm tauld he offers very fairly. 

An', Lord, remember smging Sami' ck, 

Wi' hale-breeks, saxpence, an' a bannock. 

An' next, my auld acquaintance, ISTancy, 

Since she is fitted to her fancy; 

An' her kind stars ha'e airted till her 

A good chiel wi' a pickle siller. 

My kindest, best respects I sen' it, 

To cousin Kate an' sister Janet ; 

Tell them, frae me, wi' chiels be cautions, 

For, faith, they '11 aiblins fin' them fashious; 

To grant a heart is fairly civil, 

But to grant a maidenhead 's the devil ! 

An' lastly, Jamie, for yoursel'. 

May guardian angels tak' a spell, 

An' steer you seven miles south o' hell : 

But first, before you see heaven's glory. 

May ye get monie a merry story, 

Monie a laugh, and monie a drink, 

And aye eneugh o' needfu' clink. 

ITow fare ye weel, an' joy be wi' you I 

For my sake this I beg it o' you. 

Assist poor Simson a' ye can. 

Ye '11 fin' him just an honest man : 

Sae I conclude, and quat my chanter, 

Your's, saint or sinner, — Bob the Banteb. 



FIRST EPISTLE TO R. GRAHAM, ESQ., OF 
FINTRY.' 

When ITature her great masterpiece designed. 
And framed her last, best work, the human mind. 
Her eye intent on all the mazy plan, 
She formed of various parts the various man. 

- Robert Graham, Esq., of Fintry, was one of the Commigsioners ol 
Excise, and having met the Poet at the Duke of Athol's, he became inte- 
rested in his behalf, and showed liim many kindnesses. In August, 17C3, 
Burns sent Mrs. Dunlop fourteen lines of this Epistle, beginning with — 

" Pity the tuneful Muses' helpless train," 

saying, " Since I am in the way of transcribing, the following lines were 
the production of yesterday, as I jogged through the wild hills of I*iew 



Jic 



206 TO R. GRAHAM. 

Then first she calls the useful many forth ; 

Plain plodding industry, and sober worth: 

Thence peasan's, farmers, native sous of earlh. 

And merchandise' whole genus take their birth • 

Each pi-udent cit a warm existence finds, 

And all mechanics' many-aproned kinds. 

Some other rarer sorts are wanted yet. 

The lead and buoy are needful to the nei ; 

The caput onortuum of gross desh-es 

Makes a material for mere knights and squires; 

The martial phosphorus is taught to flow : 

She kneads the lumpish philosophic dough. 

Then marks th' unyielding mass with grave designs. 

Law, physic, politics, and deep divines : 

Last, she sublimes th' Aurora of the poles, 

The flashing elements of female souls. 

The ordered system fair before her stood, 
Nature, well pleased, pronounced it very good ; 
But ere she gave creating labour o'er, 
Half-jest, she tried one carious labour more. 
Some spumy, fiery, ignis fatuus matter. 
Such as the slightest breath of air might scatter; 
With arch alacrity and conscious glee 
(Nature may have her whim as well as we, 
Her Hogarth-art perhaps she meant to shovr it) 
She forms the thing, and christens it — a poet; 
Creature, though oft the prey of care and sorrow. 
When blest to-day, unmindful of to-morrow ; 
A being formed t' amuse his graver friends. 
Admired and praised — aud there the homage ends : 

A mortal quite unfit for Fortune's strife, 
Yet oft the sport of all the ills of life ; 
Prone to enjoy each pleasure riches give, 
T*et haply wanting wherewithal to live ; 
Longing to wipe each tear, to heal each groan. 
Yet frequent all unheeded in his own. 

Cumnock. I intend inserting them, or sometbing like them, in an 
Epistle, which I am going to write to the gentleman on whose friendship 
my Excise hopes depend, Mr. Graham, of Fintry, one of the worthiest 
and most accomplished gentlemen, not only of this country, but, I will 
dare to say, of this age." To Dr. Moore, Burns wrote, in January, 
1789: "I enclose you an essay of mine in a walk of poesy to me 
entirely new. I mean the Epistle addressed to Robert Graham, Esq., of 
Fintry, a gentleman of uncommon worth, to whom I lie under very great 
obligations. This story of the poem, like most of my poems, is connected 
with my own story, and to gi'.o you the one, I must give you something 
of tlie otber." 



TO tt. an AH AM. 'm 

But honest Nature is not quite a Turk ; 

She laughed at first, then felt for her poor work. 

Pit3nng the projiless climber of mankind, 

She cast about a standard tree to find ; 

And, to support his helpless woodbine state, 

Attached him to the generous truly great, — 

A title, and the only one I claim, 

To lay strong hold for help on bounteous Graham. 

pity the tuneful Muses' hapless train, 

Weak, timid landsmen on life's stormy main ! 

Their heai-ts no selfish, stern, absorbent stuff, 

That never gives — though humbly takes enough ; 

The little Fate allows, they share as soon. 

Unlike sage, proverbed Wisdom's hard-wrung boon. 

The world were blest did bliss on them depend, — 

Ah, that " the friendly e'er should want a friend ! " 

Let prudence number o'er each sturdy son, 

"Who life and wisdom at one race begun, 

"Who feel by reason and who give Ijy rule, 

(Instinct 's a brute, and sentiment a fool !) 

"Who make poor " will do " wait upon " I should " — 

We own they 're prudent, but who feels they 're good f 

"Ye wise ones, hence ! ye hurt the social eye ! 

God's image rudely etched on base alloy ! 

But come ye who the godlike pleasure know. 

Heaven's attribute distinguished — to bestow! 

"Whose arms of love would grasp the human race : 

Come, thou who giv'st with all a courtier's grace; 

Friend of my Ufe, true patron of my rhymes ! 

Prop of my dearest hopes for future times. 

"Why shrinks my soul, half blushing, half afraid. 

Backward, abashed to ask thy friendly aid? 

I know my need, I know thy giving hand, 

I crave thy friendship at thy kind command ; 

But there are such who court the tuneful Nine — 

Heavens ! should the branded character be mine ! 

Whose verse in manhood's pride sublimely flows, 

Tet vilest reptiles in their begging prose. 

Mark, how their lofty independent spirit 

Soars on the spuming wing of injured merit ! 

Seek not the proofs in private life to find ; 

Pity the best of words should be but wind ! 

So to heaven's gates the lark's shrill song ascends, 

But grovelling on the earth the carol ends. 

In all the clam'rous cry of starving want, 

They dun benevolence with shameless front; 

Oblige them, patronize their tinsel lays. 

They persecute you ail your future days I 



^ -^ — - ^ 



208 TO HUan PARKER. 

Ere my poor soul siich deep damnation s'tain, 

My horny fist assume the plough again ; 

The piebald jacket let me patch once more; 

On eighteen-pence a week I 've lived before. 

Though, thanks to Heaven, I dare even that last shift! 

I trust, meantime, my boon is in thy gift : 

That, placed by thee upon the wished-for height, 

Where, man and nature fairer in her sight, 

My Muse may imp her wing for some sublimer flight. 



EPISTLE TO HUGH PAEKEE.' 

In this strange land, this uncouth clime, 

A land iinknown to prose or rhyme ; 

Where words ne'er crost the Muse's heckles,' 

Nor limpit in poetic shackles ; 

A land that prose did never view it, 

Except when drunk he stacher't through it : 

Here, ambushed by the chimla * cheek, 

Hid in an atmosphere of reek, 

I hear a wheel thrum i' the neuk, 

I hear it — for in vain I leuk. 

The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel, 

Enhusked by a fog infernal : 

Here, for my wonted rhyming raptures, 

I sit and count my sins by chapters ; 

For life and spunk like ither Christians, 

I 'm dwindled down to mere existence ; 

Wi' nae converse but Gallowa' bodies, 

Wi' nae kenned face but Jenny Geddes* 

Jenny, my Pegasean pride ! 

Dowie she saunters down Nithside, 

And aye a westlin' leuk she throws, 

While tears hap o'er her auld brown nose! 

Was it for this, wi' canny care, 

Thou bure the Bard through many a shire P 

At howes ^ or hillocks never stumbled. 

And late or early never grumbled ? 

Oh, had I power like inclination, 

I 'd heeze thee up a constellation, 

'This epistle, dated June, 1788, was addressed to Mr. Hugh Parker, 
merchant, in Kilmarnock, one of the Poet's earliest fiiends and patrons. 
Mr. Parker subscribed for thirty coi)ies of the Poet's Works, when he first 
brought them out at the KUinarnock press. 

■■' Sharp-pointed spikes used for dressing flax. ^ Chimney. 

* His mare. * Hollows. 



TO ROBERT GRAHAM. 209 

To canter with the Sagitarre, 

Or loTip the ecliptic like a bar ; 

Or turn the pole like any arrow ; 

Or, when auld Phosbus bids good-morruw. 

Down the zodiac nrge the race, 

And cast dirt on his godship's face ; 

For I could lay my bread and kail 

He 'd ne'er cast sant ujdo' my tail. — 

Wi' a' this care and a' this grief, 

And sma', sma' prospect of relief, 

And nought but peat-reek i' my head. 

How can I write what ye can i-ead ? — 

Tarboltou, twenty-fourth o' June, 

Ye '11 find me in a better tune ; 

But till we meet and weet our whistle, 

Tak' this excuse for nae epistle. 

Robert Burns. 



SECOND EPISTLE TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ., 
OF FINTRY, 

ON THE CLOSE OF THE DISPUTED ELECTION BETWEEN SIB. JAMES 
JOHNSTONE AND C4.PTAIN MILLEP, FOB, THE I»UMFB,IES DIS- 
TRICT OF BOROUGHS. 

FiNTRY, my stay in worldly strife. 
Friend o' my Muse, friend o' my life, 

Are ye as idle 's I am ? 
Come then, wi' uncouth, kintra fleg. 
O'er Pegasus I '11 fling my leg, 

And ye shall see me try him. 

I '11 sing the zeal Drumlanrig ' bears, 
Wha left the all-important cares 

Of princes and their darlins; 
And, bent on wiuniug borough touns, 
Came shaking hands wi' wabster louns, 

And kissing barefit carlins.* 

Combustion through our boroughs rode. 
Whistling his roaring pack abroad, 
Of mad, unmuzzled lions; 
As Queensberry " buff" and blue " unfurled. 
And Westerha' * and Hopeton hurled 
To every Whig defiance. 

' The fourth Duke of Queensberry, of infamous memory. 

^ Bare-footed old wonieu. 

* Sir James Johnstone, the Tory candidate. 

F 



I = 



TO ROBERT GRAHAM. 

But cautious Queenaberry left the war, 
Th' unmatmered dust miglit soil his star; 

" Besides, he hated bleeding : 
But left behind him heroes bright, 
Heroes in Ocesarean tight, 

Or Ciceronian pleading. 

! for a throat like huge Mons-meg,' 
To muster o'er each ardent Whig 

Beneath Drumlanrig's banners; 
Heroes and heroines commix, 
All in the field of politics, 

To win immortal honours. 

M'Murdo ^ and his lovely spouse, 

(The enamoured laurels kiss her brows !) 

Led on the loves and graces : 
She won each gaping burgess' heart, 
While he, all-conquering, played his part 

Among their wives and lasses. 

Craigdarroch ® led a light-armed corps ; 
Tropes, metaphors, and figures pour. 

Like Hecla streaming thunder: 
Glenriddel,* skilled in rusty coins. 
Blew up each Tory's dark designs. 

And bared the treason under. 

In either wing two champions fought, 
Redoubted Staig,® who set at nought 

The wildest savage Tory : 
And Welsh.^ who ne'er yet flinched his ground. 
High-waved his magnum-bonum round 

With Cyclopean fury. 

Miller brought up th' artillery ranks. 
The many-pounders of the Banks, 

Resistless desolation ! 
While Maxwelton, that baron bold, 
'Mid Lawson's ' port entrenched his hold. 
And threatened worse damnation. 

' A large old cannon in Edinburgh. 

' The Chamberlain of the Duke of Queensberry at l)rniiilanrig. 

' Ferguson of Craigdarroch. 

* Captain Riddel of Glenviddel, a friend of the Poet. 

* Provost Staig of Dumfries. ^ Sheriff Welsh, 
' Lawson, a wine raerchant in Dumfriea. 



TO ROBERT GRAHAM. 

To these, what Tory hosts opposed ; 
With these, what Tory warriors closed, 

Surpasses my descriving : 
Squadrons extended long and large. 
With furious speed rushed to the charge, 

Like raging devils driving. 

What verse can sing, what prose narrate. 
The butcher deeds of bloody fate 

Amid this mighty culzie ! 
Grim Horror grinned— pale Terror roared. 
As Murther at his thrapple ' shored, 

And Hell mixed in the brulzie ! 

As highland crags by thunder cleft. 
When hghtnings fire the sto-^my lift, 

Hurled down wi' crashing rattle; 
As flames amang a hundred woods ; 
As headlong foam a hundred floods : 

Such is the rage of battle ! 

Tlie stubborn Tories dare to die ; 
A? soon the rooted oaks would fly 

Before th' approaching fellers ; 
The Wliigs come on like Ocean's roar. 
When all his wintry billows pour 

Against the Buchan Bullers.' 

Lo ! from the shades of Death's deep night, 
Departed Whigs enjoy the fight, _ 

And think on former danng : 
The muffled murtherer ^ of Charles 
The Magna Charta flag unfurls, 

All deadly gules its bearing. 

Kor wanting ghosts of Tory fame, 

Bold Scrimeeour* follows gallant Grahams, 

Auld Covenanters shiver. 
(Forgive, forgive, much- wronged Montrose ! * 
While death and hell engulph thy foes, 

Thou liv'st on high for ever !) 



s A tremeudous rocky recess on the Aberdeenshire coast, near Peter 
bead, having an opening to the sea. The .sea, constantly raging in it, 
gives it the appearance of a pot or boiler. 

^ The executioner of Charles I. was masked. 

* John Graham of Claverhouse, Viscount Dunde«. 

^ The gxeat Marquis of Montrose. 



-.m 



212 TO ROBERT GRAHAM. 

Still o'er the field the combat burns, 
The Tories, Whigs, give way by turns ; 

But Fate the word has spoken ; 
For woman's wit and strength o' man, 
Alas ! can do but what they can— 

The Tory ranks are broken ! 

O that my een were flowing burns ! 
My voice a lioness that mourns 

Her darling cubs' undoing ! 
That I might greet, that I might cry, 
While Tories fall, while Tories fly. 

And furious Whigs pursuing ! 

What Whig but wails the good Sir James ? 
Dear to his country by the names 

Friend, patron, benefactor ! 
Not Pulteney's wealth can Pulteney save \ 
And Hopeton falls, the generous brave ! 

And Stewart,' bold as Hector. 

Thou, Pitt, shalt rue this overthrow ; 
And Thurlow growl a curse of woe : 

And Melville melt in waUing ! 
Now Fox and Sheridan rejoice ! 
And Burke shall sing, " O Prince, arisaf 

Thy power is all prevailing." 

For your poor friend, the Bard, afar 
He hears, and only hears, the war, 

A cool spectator purely : 
So, when the storm the forest renda, 
The robin in the hedge descends, 

And sober chii-ps securely. 



THIRD EPISTLE TO ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ^ 
OF PINTRY. 

Late crippled of an arm, and now a leg,^ 
About to beg a pass for leave to beg : 
Dull, listless, teased, dejected, and deprest, 
(Nature is adverse to a cripj^le's rest ;) 
Will generous Graham list to his Poet's wail? 
(It soothes poor misery, hearkening to her tale,) 
And hear him curse the Ught he first surveyed, 
And doubly curse the luckless rhyming trade P 

' Stewart of Hillside. 

' Burns had broken his arm by his horse falling with him. 



1 



TO ROBERT GRAHAM. 213 

Thou, Nature! partial Nature! I arraign; 

Of thy caprice maternal I complain. 

The liou and the bull thy care have found, 

One shakes the forests, and one spurns the ground: 

Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his shell, 

Th' envenomed wasp, victorioiTS, guards his cell ; 

Thy minions, kings defend, control, devour, 

In all th' omnipotence of rule and power; 

Foxes and statesmen siibtle wiles ensure ; 

The cit and polecat stink, and are secure ; 

Toads with their poison, doctors with their drug. 

The priest and hedgehog in their robes are snug ; 

Ev'n silly woman has her warlike arts. 

Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear and darts. 

But, oh ! thou bitter step-mother and hard. 

To thy poor, fenceless, naked child — the Bard ! 

A thing unteachable in worldly skill, 

And half an idiot too, more helpless still ; 

No heels to bear him from the oi^'ning dun ; 

No claws to dig, his hated sight to shun : 

No horns, but those by luckless Hymen worn. 

And those, alas ! not Amalthea's horn : 

No nerves olfact'ry, Mammon's trusty cur. 

Clad in rich Dulness' comfortable fur ; — 

In naked feeling, and in aching pride. 

He bears the unbroken blast from every side : 

Vampyre booksellers drain him to the heart, 

And scorpion critics cui'eless venom dart. 

Critics ! — appalled I venture on the name, 
Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame ; 
Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes ! 
He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose. 

His heart by causeless, wanton malice wrung, 

By blockheads' daring into madness stung; 

His well-won bays, than hfo itself more dear. 

By miscreants torn, who ne'er one sprig must v/ear; 

Foiled, bleeding, tortured, in th' unequal strife, 

The hapless Poet flounders on through life ; 

'Till, fled each hope that once his bosom fired, 

And fled each Muse that glorious once inspii-ed. 

Low sunk in squalid, unprotected age. 

Dead, even resentment, for his injured page. 

He heeds or feels no more the ruthless critic's rage. 

So, by some hedge, the generous steed deceased, 
For half-starved snarling curs a dainty feast, 
By toil and famine worn to skin and bone. 



p 



S14 TO ROBERT OttAHAM. 

Oh, Dulness ! portion of tlie truly blest I 
Calm sheltered haven of eternal rest ! 
Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce extremes 
Of Fortune's polar frost, or torrid beams. 
If mantling high she fills the ft'olden cup, 
With sober selfish ease they sip it up : 
Conscious the bounteous meed they well deserve. 
They only wonder " some folks " do not starve. 
The grave sage hern thus easy picks his frog, 
And thinks the mallai'd a sad worthless dog. 
When disappointment snaps the clue of hope, 
And through disastrous night they darkling grope^ 
With deaf endurance sluggishly they bear, 
And just conclude that " fools are Fortune's care." 
So, heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks. 
Strong on the sign-post stands the stupid ox. 

Not so the idle Muses' madcap train. 

Not such the workings of their moon-struck brain; 

In equanimity they never dwell, 

By turns in soaring heaven, or vaulted hell. 

I dread thee, Fate, relentless and severe. 
With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear ! 
Already one stronghold of hope is lost, 
Glencairn, the truly noble, lies in dust ; 
(Fled, like the sun eclipsed as noon appears. 
And left us darkling in a world of tears :) 
Oh ! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish prayer ! — 
Finti'y, my other stay, long bless and spare ! 
Through a long life his hopes and wishes crown; 
And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down ! 
May bliss domestic smooth his private path ; 
Give energy to life, and soothe his latest breath 
With many a fihal tear circling the bed of death ! 



FOUETH EPISTLE TO EGBERT GEAHAM, ESQ., 
OF FINTEY. 

I CALL no goddess to inspire my strains, 
A fabled Muse may sure a bard that feigns ; 
Friend of my life ! my ardent spirit burns, 
And all the tribute of my heart returns. 
For boons accorded, goodness ever new. 
The gift stitl dearer, as the giver, you. 

' Mr. Graham was one of the Poet's best friends. He obtained for 
him (all he could) an appointment in the Excise ; and wh^n Burns was 
accused of disloyaltj, he defended him boldly and well. 



PROM ESOPUS TO MARIA. 213 

Thou orb of clay ! tliou other paler Hght ! 
And all the other sparkling stars of night ; 
If aught that giver from my mind eflface ; 
If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace, 
Then roll to me along your wandering spheres, 
Only to number out a villain's years ! 

EPISTLE PEOM 'ESOPUS TO MAEIA.» 

From those drear solitudes and frowsy cells, 
Where infamy with sad repentance dv/ells ; 
Where turnkeys make the jealous mortal fast, 
And deal from iron hands the spare repast ; 
Where truant 'prentices, yet young m sm. 
Blush at the curious stranger peepuig m ; 
Where strumpets, relics of the drunken roar, 
Resolve to drink, nay, half to whore, no more : 
Where tiny thieves, not destined yet to swmg, 
Beat hemp for others, riper for the stnng : 
From these dire scenes my wretched Imes I date, 
To tell Maria her Esopus' fate. 

" Alas ! I feel I am no actor here ! " 
'Tis real hangmen real scourges bear ! 
Prepare, Maria, for a horrid tale 
Will turn thy very rouge to deadly pale ; 
Will make thy hair, though erst from gipsy polled, 
By barber woven, and by barber sold, _ 
Though twisted smooth with Harry's nicest care, 
Like hoary bristles to erect and stare. 
The hero of the mimic scene, no more 
I start in Hamlet, in Othello roar ; 
Or haughty chieftain, 'mid the din of arms, 
In Highland bonnet woo Malvina's charms ; 
Whilst sans culottes stoop up the mountain high, 
And steal from me Maria's prying eye. 
Blest Highland bonnet ! once my proudest dress, 
, Now prouder still, Maria's temples press. 
I see her wave thy towering plumes atar, 
And call each coxcomb to the wordy war ; 
I see her face the first of Ireland's sons, 
And even out-Irish his Hibernian bronze; 
The crafty colonel leaves the tartaned lines. 
For other wars, where he a hero shines ; 
1 The Esopus of this epistle was Wiliiamson the actor, and tl.« Maria, 

to whom it was addressed, was Mrs. Riddel, who was a true and generoua 

friend to Burns. 



T(L 



3 



n 



210 FROM ESOPUS TO MARIA. 

The hopeful youth, in Scottish senate bred, 
Who owns a Bushby's heart without the head; 
Comes, 'mid a string of coxcombs, to display- 
That veni, vidi, vici, is his way ; 
The shrinking bard adown an alley skulks, 
And dreads a fleeting worse than Woolwich hulks s 
Though there, hi^ heresies in church and state 
Might well award him Muir and Palmer's fate : 
Still she, undaunted, reels and rattles on. 
And dares the public like a noontide sun. 
(What scandal called Maria's jaunty stiigger 
The ricket reeling of a crooked swagger ? 
WThose spleen e'en worse than Burns's venom when 
He dips in gall unmixed his eager pen, — _ 
And pours his vengeance in the burning line. 
Who christened thus Maria's lyre divine ; 
The idiot strum of vanity bemused. 
And even th' abuse of poesy abused ! 
Who called her verse a parish workhouse, made 
For motley, foundling fancies, stolen or strayed ?) 

A workhouse ! ha, that sound awakes my woes. 
And pillows on the thorn my racked repose ! 
In durance vile here must I wake and v/eep, 
And all my frowsy couch in sorrow steep ! 
That straw where many a rogue has lain of yore, 
And vermined gipsies littered heretofore. 

Why, Lonsdale, thus, thy wrath on vagrants pour. 

Must earth no rascal save thyself endure ? 

Must thou alone in guilt immortal swell. 

And make a vast monopoly of hell ? 

Thou know'st the virtues cannot hate thee worse. 

The vices also, must they club their curse ? 

Or must no tiny sin to others fall, 

Because thy guilt's supreme encr^gh for all ? 

Maria, send me too thy griefs and cares ; 

In all of thee sure thy Esopus shares. 

As thou at all mankind the flag unfurls. 

Who on my fair one satire's vengeance hurls? 

Who calls thee pert, affected, vain coquette, 

A wit in folly, and a fool in wit P 

Who says, that fool alone is not thy due, 

And quotes thy treacheries to prove it true? 

Our force united, on thy foes we '11 turn. 

And dare the war with all of woman born : 

for who can wi-ite and speak a s thou and I P 

My periods that decyphering defy. 

And thy still matchless tongue that conquers aU reply 



o 



217 



A DEDICATION TO GAVIN HAMILTON, ESQ. 

Expect ua, Sir, in this narration, 
A fleechin,' fletlierin ^ dedication, 
To roose ^ you up, an' ca' you guid, 
An' sprung o' great an' noble bluid, 
Because ye 're surnamed like his Gni'-e; 
Perhaps related to the race ; 
Then when I 'm tired — and sae are ye^ 
Wi' mony a fulsome, sinfu' lie, 
Set up a face, how I stop short. 
For fear your modesty be hurt. 

This may do — maun do. Sir, wi' them wha 
Maun please the great folk for a »vamefou ; * 
For me ! sae laigh I needna bow. 
For, Lord be thankit, I can plough : 
And when I downa yoke a naig. 
Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg ; 
Sae I shall say, an' that 's nae flatterin', 
It 's jiist sic poet, an' sic patron. 

The Poet, some guid angel help him, 
Or else, I fear some ill ane skelp-' him, 
He may do weel for a' he 's done yet, 
But only lie 's no just begun yet. 

The Patron (Sir, ye maun forgi'e me, 
I winna lie, come what will o" me). 
On ev'ry hand it will allowed be, 
He 's just — nae better than he should bo. 

I readily and freely grant. 

He downa see a poor man want ; 

What 's no his ain he winna tak' it, 

What ance he says he winna breakit; 

Ought he can lend he '11 no refuse 't. 

Till aft his guidness is abused ; 

And rascals whyles that do him wrang, 

Ev'n that, he does na mind it lang : 

As master, landlord, husband, father. 

He does na fail his part in either. 

Begdng. ° Flattering. ' Pruitift 

JBelijful. * Hit. 



m 



:n 



218 TO GAVIN HAMILTON. 

But then, nae thanks to him for a' thai ; 
Nae godly symptom ye can ca' that ; 
It 's naething but a milder feature 
Of our poor, sinfu' corrupt nature : 
Ye '11 get the best o' moral works 
'Mang black Geutoos and Pagan Turks, 
Or hunters wild on Ponotaxi, 
Wha never heard of orthodoxy. 
That he 's the poor man's friend in need, 
The gentleman in word and deed, 
It 's no through terror of d-mn-tion ; 
It 's just a carnal inclination. 

Morahty, thou deadly bane, 
Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain ! 
Vain is his hope, whose stay and trust is 
In moral mercy, truth, and justice ! 

No — stretch a point to catch a plack ; ' 
Abuse a brother to his back ; 
Steal through a winnock * frae a wh-re, 
But point the rake that tak's the door : 
Be to the poor like onie whuustane,^ 
And hand their noses to the grunstane;* 
Ply every art o' legal thieving ; 
No matter, stick to sound believing. 

Learn three-mile prayers, an' half-mile graccB, 
Wi' weel-spread looves, an' lang wry faces; 
Grunt up a solemn, lengthened groan. 
And damn a' parties but your own ; 
I '11 warrant then, ye 're nae deceiver, 
A steady, sturdy, staunch believeu. 

ye wha leave the springs of Calvin, 
For gumlie dubs • of your ain delvin' ! 
Ye sons of heresy and error. 
Ye '11 some day squeel in quaking terror ! 
When Vengeance draws the sword in wrath. 
And in the fire throws the sheath ; 
When Riun, with his sweeping besom, 
Just frets till Heaven commission gi'es him : 

(While o'er the harp ](ale Mis'ry moans, 
And strikes the ever-deep' ning tones. 
Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans ! 

' Old Scottish coin. * Window. ^ -w^hinstona, 

* Grindstone. * Muddy pools. 



TO GAVIN HAMILTON. 219 

Yonr pardon, Sir, for this digression, 
I maist forgat my dedication ; 
But when divinity comes cross me, 
My readers still are sure to lose me. 

So, Sir, ye see 'twas nae daft vanour, 

But I maturely tnought it proper, 

When a' my works I did review, 

To dedicate thsm, Sir, to You : 

Because (ye need na tak' it ill) 

I thought them something like yourt,l'. 

Then jjatronize them wi' your favour. 

And your petitioner shall ever — 

I had amaist said, ever pray, 

But that 's a word I need na say : 

For prayin' I ha'e little skill o't; 

I'm baith dead-sweer, an' wretched ill o't; 

But I 'se repeat each poor man's prayer. 

That kens or hears about you. Sir — 

" May ne'er Misfortune's gowling baik 
Howl through the dwelling o' the Clerk I 
May ne'er his generous, honest heart. 
For that same generous spirit smart I 
May Kennedy's far-honoured name 
Lang beet ' his hymeneal flame, 
Till Hamiltons, at least a dizen, 
Are frae their nuptial labours risen: 
Five bonnie lasses round their table, 
And seven braw fellows, stout and able 
To serve their king and country weel. 
By word, or pen, or pointed steel ! 
May health and j^eace, with mutual raye. 
Shine on the evening o' hi? days • 
Till his wee curiie John's ier-oc,' 
When ebbing Life nae mair shall flow, 
The last, sad, mournful rites bestow 1" 

I will not wind a lang conclusion, 

Wi' compUmentar}' effusion : 

But whilst your wishes and endeavours 

Are blest with Fortune's smiles and favours, 

I am, dear Sir, with zeal most fervent. 

Your much indebted, humble servant. 

But if (which Powers above prevent !) 
That iron-hearted carl, Want, 
Attended in his grim advances, 
By sad mistakes, and black mischances, 

Add fuel to. * Great grandchild 



*] 



220 TO GAVIN HAM UjTON 

While holies, and joys, and pleasures fly him. 

Make you as poor a dog as I am, 

Your humble servant then no more ; 

For who would humbly serve the poor ! 

But by a 230or man's hopes in heaven ! 

While recollection's power is given, 

If, in the vale of humble life, 

The victim sad of Fortune's strife, 

I, through the tender gushing tear, 

Should recognize my master dear. 

If friendless, low, we meet together. 

Then, Sir, your hand — my friend and brother \ 



^allatis. 



THE WHISTLB. 

A BALU4.D. 

["As the authentic prose history of the Whistle is cnrioua," says Bums, 
*' I shall here give it. In the train of Anne of Denmark, when she came 
to Scotland with onr James the Sixth, there came over also a Danish 
gentleman of gigantic stature and great prowess, and a matchless champion 
of Bacchus. He had a little ebony whistle, which at the commencement of 
the orgies he laid on the table, and whoever was last able to blow it (every- 
body else being disabled by the potency of the bottle) was to carry off the 
whistle as a trophy of victory. The Dane produced credentials of his 
victories, without a single defeat, at the courts of Copenhagen, Stockholm, 
Moscow, Warsaw, and several of the petty courts in Germany, and 
challenged the Scots Bacchanalians to the alternative of trying his 
prowess, or else of acknowledging theu' inferiority. After many overthrows 
on the part of the Scots, the Dane was encountered by Sir Kobert Lawrie 
of Maxwelton, ancestor of the piesent worthy baronet of that name, who, 
after three days' and three nights' hard contest, left the Scandinavian 
under the table, 

And blew on the Whistle his requiem shrill. 

Sir Walter, son to Sir Robert, before mantioned, afterwards lost the 
Vv'histle to Walter Riddel of Glenriddel, who had marridl a sister of Sir 
Walter's. On Friday, the 16th of October, 179(1, at Friars-Car.se, the 
Whistle was once more contended for, as related in the ballad by the 
present Sir Robert Lawi-ie of Maxwelton ; RoVieii Riddel, Esq., of Glen- 
riddel, lineal descendant and representative of Walter Riddel, who won 
the Whistle, and in whose family it had continued ; and Alexander 
Ferguson, E.sq., of Craigdarroch, likewise descended of the great Sir 
Roljert, which last gentleman carried off the hard-won honours of the 
field.] 

I SING of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth, 
I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North, 
Was brought to the cmrt of our good Scottish ting. 
And long with this Whistle all Scotland shall ring. 



222 THE WHISTLE. 

Old Loda,' still rueing the arm of Fingal, 
The god of the bottle sends down from his hall — 
" This Whistle's your challenge, to Scotland get o'er. 
And drink them to hell, Sir ! or ne'er see me more '. " 

Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell, 
What champions ventured, what cham])ions fell; 
The son of great Loda was conqueror still, 
And blew on the Whistle his requiem shrill. 

Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and the Scaur, 
Unmatched at the bottle, unconquered in wai-, 
He drank his poor god-ship as deep as the sea, 
No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he. 

Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gained; 
Which now in his house has for ages remained; 
Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood, 
The jovial contest again have renewed. 

Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of fla\v| 
Craigdarroch, so famous for wit, worth, and law ; 
And trusty Glenriddel, so skilled in old coins ; 
And gallant Sir Robert, deep read in old wines. 

Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil. 
Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil ; 
Or else he would muster the heads of the clan. 
And once more, in claret, try which was the man. 

" By the gods of the ancients ! " Glenriddel replies, 
" Before I surrender so glorious a prize, 
I '11 conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More,' 
And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er." 

Sir Robert, a soldier no speech would pretend. 
But he ne'er turned his back on his foe — or his friend, 
Said, toss down the Whistle, the prize of the field, 
And, knee-deep in claret, he'd die or he'd yield. 

To the board of Glenriddel our- heroes repair, 
. So noted for drowning of sorrow and care ; 

But for wine and for welcome not nioi-e known to famo> 
Than the sense, w it, and taste, of a sweet lovely dame. 

A bard was selected to witness the fray, 
And tell future ages the feats of the day ; 
A bard who detested all sadness and spleen, 
And wished that Parnassus a vineyard had been. 

' See Ossianjs " Caric-thura. " — Burns. 

' ^ee Johnson's " Tour to the Hebrides." — Bitrns. 



Nil 






JOHN BARLEYCORN. 223 

The dinner being over, the claret they ply, 

And every new cork is a new spring of joy , 

In the bands of old friendship and kindred so set, 

And the bands grew the tighter the more they were wet. 

Gay pleasiire ran riot as bumpers ran o'er ; 
Bright Phoebus ne'er witnessed so joyous a core. 
And vowed that to leave them he was quite forlorn, 
Till Cynthia hinted he 'd see them next morn. 

Six bottles a piece had well wore out the night, 
When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight, 
Turned o'er in one bumper a bottle of red, 
And swore 'twas the way that their ancestor did. 

Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautious and sage, 
No longer the warfare, ungodly, would wage ; 
A high-ruling Elder to wallow in wine ! 
He left the foul business to folks less divine. 

The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end ; 
But who can with fate and quart bumpers contend ? 
Though fate said —a hero should perish in light; 
So uprose bright Phoebus — and down fell the knight 

Next uprose our bard, like a i:>rophet in drink : — 
" Craigdarroch, thou 'It soar when creation shall sink I 
But if thou would flom-ish immortal in rhyme, 
Come — one bottle more — and have at the sublime ! 

" Thy line, that have struggled for freedom with Bruce, 
Shall heroes and patriots ever produce; 
So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay; 
The field thou hast won, by yon bright god of day ! " 



JOHN BARLEYCORN.' 

A BALLAD. 

Theke were three kings into the east» 

Three kings both great and high. 
An' they ha'e sworn a solemn oath 

John Barleycorn should die. 

' This is partly composed on the plan of an old song known by the 
same namo. 



a 



224 JOHN BARLEYCORN. 

They took a plough and ploughed hiin dowu. 

Put clods upon his head, 
An' they ha'e sworn a solemn oath 

John Bai'leycorn was dead. 

But the cheerful spring came kindly on. 

And showers began to fall ; 
John Barleycorn got up again, 

And sore surprised them all. 

The sultry suns of summer came, 
And he grew thick and strong, 

His head weel armed wi' pointed spear3» 
That no one should him wrong. 

The sober autumn entered mild, 
When he grew wan and pale ; 

His bending joints and drooping head 
Showed he began to fail. 

His colour sickened more and more^ 

He faded into age ; 
And then his enemies began. 

To show their deadly rage. 

They Ve ta'en a weapon long and shai-py 

And cut him by the knee ; 
Then tied him fast upon a cart. 

Like a rogue for forgerie. 

They laid him down upon his back, 
And cudgelled him full sore ; 

They hung him up before the storm. 
And turned him o'er and o'er. 

They filled up a darksome pit 

With water to the brim, 
They heaved in John Barleycorn, 

There let him sink or swim. 

They laid him out upon the floor. 

To work him farther woe, 
And still, as signs of life aj^peared. 

They tossed him to and fro. 

They wasted, o'er a scorching flame. 

The marrow of his bones ; 
But a miller used him worst of all, 

Eor he crushed him 'tween two stoneg. 



JOHN BARLEYCORN. 22^ 

And they lia'e ta'en his very heart's blood, 

And drank it ronnd and round ; 
And still the more and more they drank, 

Their joy did more abound. 

John Barleycorn was a hero bold, 

Of noble enterprise, 
For if you do but taste his blood, 

'Twill make your courage rise. 

'Twill make a man forget his woe ; 

'Twill heighten aU his joy : 
Twill make the widow's heart to sing^ 

Though the tear were in her eye. 

Then let us toast John Barleycorn, 

Each man a glass in hand ; 
And may liis great jiosterity 

Ne'er fail in old Scotland 1 



I0litkal lalkbs* 



THE AMERICAIT WAR. 

A FRAGMENT. 

Tune — " Gillicrankie." 

WiTEN Guilford good our pilot stood. 

And did our hellim thraw, man, 
Ae night, at tea, began a plea. 

Within America, man : 
Then up they gat the maskin-pat,* 

And m the sea did jaw,* man; 
An' did nae less, in full congress, 

Than quite refuse our law, man. 

Then through the lakes Montgomery takes, 

I wat he was na slaw, man ; 
Down Lowrie's burn he took a turn. 

And Carleton did ca', man ; 
But yet, what reck, he, at Quebec, 

Montgomery-like did fa', man ; 
Wi' sword in hand, before his band, 

Amang his en'mies a', man. 

Poor Tammy Gage, within a cage 

Was kept at Boston ha', man ; 
Till Willie Howe took o'er the kuowe 

For Philadelphia, man ; 
Wi' sword an' gun he thought a sin 

Guid Christian blood to draw, man; 
But at New York, wi' knife an' fork. 

Sir-loin he hacked sma', man. 

' Teapot. 

' Jerk or throw. It is well known that the imposition by the English 
Commons of an excise duty on the tea imported to North America, caused 
the outbreak of the American war. The colonists went on board the 
Indiamen which brought tea to their shores, and threw their cargoes into 
the sea 



% 



J 



THE AMERICAN WAR. 62? 

Burgoyne gaed up, like spur an' whip, 

'L'ill Fraser brave did fa', man; 
Then lost his way, ae misty day, 

In Saratoga shaw, man. 
Cornwallis fought as lang's he dought,* 

An' did the buckskins claw, man ; 
But Clinton's glaive frae rust to save. 

He hung it to the^ wa', man. 

Then Montague, an' Guilford too. 

Began to fear a fa', man ; 
And Sackville doure, wha stood the stoure, 

The German chief to tliraw, man ; 
For Paddy Burke, like onie Turk, 

Nae mercy had at a', man ; 
An' Charlie Fox threw by the box. 

An' lowsed his tinkler jaw, man. 

Then Rockingham took up the game, 

TUl death did on him ca', man ; 
When Shelburne meek held up his cheek. 

Conform to gospel law, man. 
Saint Stephen's boyg, wi' jarring noise. 

They did his measures thraw, man, 
For North an' Fox united stocks, 

An' bore him to the wa', man. 

Then clubs an' hearts were Charlie's cartes, 

He swept the stakes awa', man, 
Till the diamond''S ace, of Indian race. 

Led him a sair faux fas, man : 
The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads, 

On Chatham's boy did ca', man ; 
An' Scotland drew her pipe, an* blew 

"Up, Willie, waur them a', man!" 

Behind the throne then Grenville's gone, 

A secret word or twa, man ; 
While slee Dundas aroused the class 

Be-north the Roman wa', man : 
An' Chatham's wraith, in heavenly grtiith, 

(Inspired bardies saw, man,) 
Wi' kindling eyes cried, " Willie, rise ! 

Would ha'e feared them a', man ? " 

But word an' blow, North, Fox, and Co. 

Gowffed WilKe like a ba', man, 
TUl Suthron rase, and coost their claise 

Behind him in a raw, man : 

' CouJi. 



228 TUE LADDIES ON THE BANKS OP NIT 11. 

An' Caledon threw by the drone, 
An' did her whittle draw, man ; 

An' swoor fu' rude, through dirt an' blood 
To make it guid in law, man. 



THE LADDIES ON THE BANKS OF NITH. 

Tune — " Up and waur them a'." 

[This ballad commemorates an election contest for the representation 
of the Dumfries Burghs, which occurred in September, 1789, between 
the old Tory member. Sir James Johnstone, of Westerhall, and the Whig 
candidate, Captain Miller, of Dalswinton, Burns's landlord.] 

The laddies by the banks o' Nith 

Wad trust his grace ' wi' a', Jamie, 
But he '11 sair ^ them as he saired the king, 
Turn tail and rin awa', Jamie.^ 

Up and waur "* them a', Jamie, 

Up and waur them a' ; 
The Jolinstcns ha'e the guidin' o't, 
Ye turncoat Whigs, awa'. 

The day he stood his country's friend, 

Or gaed her faes a cla-v, Jamie, 
Or frae puir man a blessin' wan. 

That day the duke ne'er saw, Jamie. 

But wha is he, the country's boast. 

Like him there is na twa, Jamie ; 
There 's no a callant * tents ® the kye,'' 

But kens o' Westerha', Jamie. 

To end the wark here 's Whistlebirck,* 
Lang may his whistle blaw, Jamie ; 
And Maxwell true o' sterling blue. 
And we '11 be Johnstons a', Jamie. 
Up and waur them a', Jamie, 

Up and waur them a' ; 
The Johnstons ha'e the guidiu' o't, 
Ye turncoat Whigs, awa'. 

' The Duke of Queensberry. * Serve. 

' The Duke deserted the cause of George III., in whose household h^ 
had a place, and voted for the right of the Prince of Wales to assume the 
Kegency without the consent of Parliament. 

* Beat. ' Boy. •* Tends. ' Cows. 

' Alexander Birtwhistle, merchant, of Kirkcudbright, provost of the 
tovm. 



D 



229 

THE FIVE CARLINS. 

AN ELECTION BALLAD. 

Tune—" Chevy-Chace." 

. * 
There were five carlins in the south} 

They fell upon a scheme, 
To send a lad to Lon'on town, 

To bring them tidings hame. 

ITot only bring them tidings hame, 

But do their errands there ; 
And aiblins gowd and honour baith 

Might be that laddie's share. 

There was Maggy by the banks o' Nith,' 

A dame wi' pride eneugh ; 
And Marjory o' the mony lochs,'. 
A carlin auld and teugh. 

And bKnkin' Bess of Annandale,* 

That dwelt near Solway-side ; 
And whiskey Jean, that took her gill 
In Galloway sae wide." 

And black Joan, frae Crichton-peel," 

0' gipsy kith an' kin ; — 
Five weightier carlias were na foun' 

The south countrie within. 

To send a lad to Lon'on town,' 

They met upon a day ; 
And mony a knight, and mony a laird, 

Their errand fain wad gae. 

O mony a knight, and mony a laird, 

This errand fain wad gae ; 
But nae ane could their fancy please, 

ne'er a ane but twae. 

> The "Five Carlins,'' t.e. old women, represent the towns of Dumfries, 
Annan, Kirkcudbright, Sanquhar, Loch-maben. It was written at th« 
same election which the last ballad commemorates. 

* Dumfries. ^ Loch-maben. 

* The small borough of Annan. * The borough of Kirkcudbright. 

* Sanquhar. ' To send a member to Parliament, 



J^ 



.r 



23u THE FIVE GARLINS. 

The first lie was a belted kniglit,- 

Bred o' a border-clan ; 
And he wad gae to Lon'on town, 

Might nae man him withstan'; 

And he wad do their errands weelj 

And meikle he wad say ; 
And ilka ane at Lon'on Court 

Wad bid to hicn guid-day. 

Then neist cam in a sodger youth,* 

And spak' wi' modest grace. 
And he wad gae to Lon'on town, 

If sae their pleasure was. 

He wadna hecht * them courtly gifts, 

Nor meikle speech pretend ; 
B ut he wad hecht an honest heart, 

Wad ne'er desert liis friend. 

Now, wham to chuse, and wham refuBet 

At strife thir carlins fell ; 
For some had gentlefolks to please, 

And some wad please themsel'. 

Then out spak' mim-mou'd Meg o' Nith, 

And she spak' up wi' pride, 
And she wad send the sodger youth, 

Whatever might betide. 

For the auld guidman * o' Lon'on Court 

She dinna care a pin ; 
But she wad send a sodger youth 

To greet his eldest son.* 

Then slow rase Marjory o' the Loche, 

And wrinkled was her brow ; 
Her ancient weed was russet grey, 

Her auld Scots bluid was true. 

** The Lon'on Court set light by mo — 
I set as light by them ; 
And I will send the sodger lad 
To shaw that Court the same." 

Then up sprang Bess of Annandale, 

And swore a deadly aith. 
Says, " I will send the border-knight, 

yjjite o' you carlins baith. 

' Sir J. Johnston. * Captain Miller. * Projai?» 

* George lU- ' The Prince of Wales. 



THE BEAN OF FACULTY. 231 

■'For fai--aflf fowls ha'e feathers fair, 
And fools o' change are fain ; 
But I ha'e tried this horder-knight, 
An* I *11 try him yet again." 

Then whiskey Jean spak' owre her drinl:, 

" Ye weel ken, kimmers a', 
The auld guidman o' Lon'on Court, 

His back 's been at the wa' ; 

" And mony a friend that kissed his caup,' 
Is now a fremit ^ wight ; 
But it 's ne'er be said o' whiskey Jean, — 
I '11 send the border-knight." 

Says black Joan frae Crichton-peel 
A carlin stoor and grim, — 
•* The auld guidman, an' the young guidmaiij 
For me may sink or swim. 

** For fools will prate o' right and wrang, 
While knaves laugh in their sleeve ; 
But wha blows best the horn shall wh;, 
I '11 speir nae courtier's leave." 

Sue how this weighty plea may eml 

Nae mortal wight can tell : 
God grant the king, and ilka maUj 

May look weel to himsel* 1 



THE DEAN OF FACULTY.'' 

A. NEW BAXLA.D. 
Tune- " The Dragon of Wantley." 

Dire was the hate at old Harlaw, 

That Scot to Scot did caiTy ; 
And uire the discord Langside saw, 

For beauteous, hapless Mary : 

' Cup. - Estranged. 

' This ballad commemorates a contest for election to the Deanship of 
the Faculty of Advocates, between the Hon. Henry Eiskine and llobert 
Dundas, Esq., of Amiston, Jan. 12, 1790. Mr. Dundas was elected. 



r 



S3S THE DEAN OF FACULTY. 

But Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot, 

Or were more in fury seen, Sir, 
Than 'twixt Hal ' and Bob ^ for the famous jolj 

Who should be Faculty's Dean» Sir. 

This Hal for genius, wit, and lore. 

Among the first was numbered ; 
But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store, 

Comuiandment tenth remembered. — 
Yet simple Bob the victory got. 

And won his heart's desire ; 
Which shews that heaven can boil the pot, 

Though the devil in the fire. 

Squire Hal besides had, in this case, 

Pretensions rather brassy, 
For talents to deserve a place 

Are qualifications saucy; 
So, their worships of the Faculty, 

Quite sick of merit's rudeness, 
Chose one who should owe it all, d'ye see, 

To their gratis grace and goodness. 

As once on Pisgah purged was the sight 

Of a son of Circumcision, 
So may be, on this Pisgah height, 

Bob's purblind, mental vision : 
Nay, Bobby's mouth may be opened yet, 

Till for eloquence you hail him. 
And swear he has the Angel met 

That met the Ass of Balaam. 

In your heretic sins may ye Hve, and die. 

Ye heretic eight-and-thirty ! 
But accept, ye sublime Majority, 

My congratulations hearty. 
With your honours and a certain king. 

In your servants this is striking — 
The more incapacity they bring. 

The more they 're to your liking. 

* The Hon. Henry Erskine. ' Robert Dundas, Esq., Amiston. 



% 



233 

POETICAL INSCRIPTION,* 

FOR AN ALTAK TO INDEPENDENCE. 

Thou of an independent mind, 

AVith soul resolved, with soul resigned ; 

Prepared Power's proudest frown to brave, 

Who wilt not be, nor have, a slave ; 

Yirtue alone who dost revere, 

I'hy own reproach alone dost fear, 

Approach this shrine and worship here. 



THE HERON ELECTION BALLADS* 

BALLAD I. 

WifOM will yon send to London town. 

To Parliament, and a' that? 
Or wha in a' the country round 
The best deserves to fa' that ? 
For a' that, and a' that. 
Through Galloway and a' that; 
Where is the laird or belted knight 
That best deserves to fa' that P 

Wha sees Kerroughtree's open yett,' 

And wha is't never saw that ? 
Wha ever wi' Kerroughtree met. 
And has a doubt of a' that ? 
For a' that, and a' that, 
Here 's Heron yet for a' that ! 
The indeijendent patriot. 
The honest man, and a' that. 

Though wit and worth in either sex, 

St. Mary's Isle can shaw that; 
Wi' dukes and lords let Selkirk mix, 

And weel does Selkirk fa' that. 

' This inscription was written on an altar to Independence erected by 
Heron of Kerroughtree, in Gallowav, in 1795 It was written imme- 
diately before the Heron Election Ballads. 

' The Heron Ballads were written by Bums to help the canva-ssing of 
Patrick. Heron, of Kfrrouglitree, in two elections. They were dissemi- 
nated over the country as broadsheets, and were considered mere election 
squibs. 

3 Gate. 



r 



234 THE HERON BALLADS. 

For a' that, and a' that. 
Here 's Heron j^et for a' that I 
The independent commoner 
Shall be the man for a' that. 

r>at why should we to nobles jouk ? ' 

And it 's against the law that; 
For why, a lord may I le a gouk * 
Wi' ribbon, star, and a' that. 
For a' that, and a' tliat. 
Here 's Heron yet for a' that I 
A lord may be a lousy lonn 
Wi' ribbon, star, and a' that. 

A beardless boy comes o'er the hills 

Wi' uncle's purse and a' that ; 
But we '11 ha'e ane frae 'mang oursels, 
A man we ken and a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that, 
Here 's Heron yet for a' that ! 
For we 're not to be bought and sold 
Like naigs, and nowt,' and a' that. 

Then let us drink the Stewartry, 

KeiTOughtree's laird, and a' that, 
Our representative to be, 
For weel he 's worthy a' that, 
For a' that, and a' that. 
Here 's Heron yet for a' that ! 
A House of Commons such as he, 
They would be blest that saw that 



BALLAD II. — [the election.] 
Tuue— " Fy, let us a' to the IhidaL" 

Fy, let us a' to Kirkcudbright, 
For there will be bickerin' there ; 

For Murray's light-horse are to muster. 
An' oh, how the heroes will swear! 

Bend. » FooL » Cattle. 



THE HERON BALLADS. 235 

A 1 1' there will be Murray commander. 

An' Gordon the battle to win ; 
Like brothers they '11 stand by each other, 

Sae knit in alliance and kin. 

An' there will be black-nebbit Johnnie,* 

The tongue o' the trump to them a' ; 
An' he get na hell for his haddin' 

The deil gets na justice ava' ; 
An' there will be Kempleton's birkie^ 

A boy na sae black at the bane, 
But, as for his fine nabob fortune, 

We '11 e'en let the subject alane.* 

An' there will be Wigton's new sheriff. 

Dame Justice fu' brawlie has sped, 
She 's gotten the heart of a Busby, 

But, Lord, what 's become o' the head P 
An' there will be Cardoness,' Esquire, 

Sae mighty in Cardoness' eyes ; 
A wight that will weather damnation — 

The devil the prey will despise. 

An' there will be Douglasses * doughty, 

New christening towns far and near ; 
Abjuring their democrat doings, 

By kissing the — o' a peer ; 
An' there will be Kenmure sae generous i 

Whose honour is proof to the storm ; 
To save them from stark reprobation. 

He lent them bis name to the firm. 

But we winna mention Redcastle, 

The body, e'en let him escape ! 
He 'd venture the gallows for siller. 

An' 'twere na the cost o' the rape. 
An' where is our King's lord lieutenant, 

Sae famed for his gratefu' return ? 
The billie is gettin' his questions. 

To say in St. Stephen's the mom. 

' John Busby, of Tinwald Downs. 

' He was suspected of having made it, previous to his residence in 
India, by transactions at the Ayr Bank. 

^ Maxwell, of Cardoness. 

* Douglas, of Gorlingwark, had given the name of Castle Douglas to a 
rillage which rose in his neighbourhood. 



^Jh 



236 THE HERON BALLADS. 

An' there will be lads o' the gospel, 

Muirhead ' wha's as gnde as he's trtis; 
Ad' there will be Buittle's apostle,* 

Wha's mair o' the black than the blue; 
An' there will be folk frae St. Mary's, 

A house o' great merit and note, 
The de'il ane but honours them highly, — 

The de'il ane will gie them his vote ! 

An' there wiU be wealthy young Richard,' 

Dame Fortune should hing by the neck ; 
For prodigal, thriftless, bestowing. 

His merit had won him respect: 
An' there will be rich brother nabobs, 

Though nabobs, yet men of the first, 
An' there will be CoUieston's whiskers, 

An' Quentin, o' lads not the warst. 

An' there will be stamp-office Johnnie,* 

Tak' tent how ye purchase a dram ; 
An' there will be gay Cassencarrie, 

A n' there will be gleg Colonel Tarn ; * 
An' there will be trusty Kerroughtree, 

Whase honour was ever his law. 
If the virtues were packed in a parcel, 

His worth might be sample for a'. 

An' can we forget the auld Major,® 

Wha '11 ne'er be f rgot in the Greys, 
Our flattery we '11 keep for some ither, 

Him only it 's justice to praise. 
Vn' there will be maiden Kilkerran,' 

And also Barskimming's guid kniglit,* 
An' there will be roarin' Birtwhistle, 

Wha, luckily, roars in the right. 

An' there, frae the Niddesdale border, 

Will mingle the Maxwells in droves ; 
Teugh Johnnie, staunch Geordie, an' Walie 

That griens for the fishes an' loaves; 
An' there will be Logan Mac Douall, 

Sculdudd'ry an' he will be there. 
An' also the wild Scot o' Galloway, 

Sodgerin', gunpowder Blair. 

> Minister of Urr. ' Rev. G. Maxwell. 

' 11. Oswald, of Auchincniive. * John Syrae. 

* Col. Goldie. ® Major Heron. 

' Sir Ailam Fergusr.ca. ' Sir William Miller. 



x^ 



THE HERON BALLADS. 237 

Then hey the chaste int'rest o' Broughton, 
An' hey for the blessings 'twill bring ! 

It may send Balmaghie to the Commons, 
In Sodom 'twonld make him a king; 

An' hey for the sanctified Murray, 
Our land wha wi' chapels has stored; 

He foundered his horse amang harlots, 
But gi'ed the auld naig to the Lord. 



BALLiU) m. — [an excellent new song.] 
Tone — " Buy broom Besoms. ' 

Wha will buy my troggin P ' 

Fine election ware ; 
Broken trade o' Broughton, 
A* in high repair. 

Buy braw troggin, 

Frae the banks o' Dee; 
Wha wants troggin 
Let him come to me. 

There 's a noble Earl's 

Fame and high renown,' 
For an auld sang — 

It 's thought the gudes were stovra." 
Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here 's the worth o' Broughton * 

In a needle's ee ; 
Here 's a reputation 
Tint* by Balmaghie.' 

Buy braw troggin, &o. 

Here 's an honest conscience 

Might a prince adorn ; 
Frae the downs o' Tynwald — 

Sae was never born. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

' Pedlar's wares. ^ The Earl of Galloway. • Stolen. 

* Mr. Murray. * Lost. * Gordon, of Balmaghie. 



f' 



5 fHS MERON ballads. 

Here 's the stuff and lining, 

0' Cardoness's head ; 
Fine for a sodger 

A.' the wale o' lead.' 

Buy braw troggin, &o> 

Here 's a little wadset, 

Buittle's scrap o' truth. 
Pawned in a gin-shop, 

Quenching holy drouth. 

Buy braw troggin, &o. 

Here 'b armorial bearings 

Frae the manse o' Urr; 
The crest, and auld crab-apple' 

Botten at the core. 

Buy braw troggin, &0. 

Here is Satan's picture, 

Like a bizzard gled,' 
Pouncing poor Redcastle, 

Sprawiin' like a taed. 

Buy braw troggin, &o» 

Here 's the worth and wisdom 

ColHeston can boast; 
By a thievish midge 

They had been nearly lost. 

Buy braw troggin, &0. 

Here is Murray's fragments 

0' the ten commands ; 
Gifted by black Jock 

To get them aff his hands. 

Buy braw troggin, && 

Saw ye e'er sic troggin P 
If to buy ye 're slack, 
Homie 's * tumin' chapman,— 
He '11 buy a' the pack. 

Buy braw troggin, 

Frae the banks o' Dee; 
Wha wants troggin 
Let him come to me. 

The choicest lead. 

• Rev. Dr Muiihead, minister of Drr, in Galloway. ■ Eitik 

* Satan. 



Jr 



239 

BAHAD rV. — [jOHN busby's' LAMENTATION.] 
Tune— "The Babes in the Wood." 

TwAS in the seventeen hundred year 

0' Christ, and ninety-five, 
That year I was the waest man 

0' ony man aUve. 

In March, the three-and-twentieth day. 
The sun rase clear and bright ; 

But oh, I was a waefu' man 
Ere toofa' o' the night. 

YerP Galloway lang did rule this land 

Wi' equal right and fame. 
Arid thereto was his kinsman joined 
The Murray's noble name ! 

Yerl Galloway lang did rule the land, 

]\Iade me the judge o' strife ; 
Bnt now yerl Galloway's sceptre's broke, 

And eke my hangman's knife. 

Twas by the banks o' bonny Dee^ 

Beside Kirkcudbright towers, 
The Stewart and the Murray there 

Did muster a' their powers. 

The Murray on the auld grey yand,^ 

Wi' winged spurs did ride, 
That auld grey yaud, yea, Nid'sdale rade^ 

He staw* upon Nidside. 

An' there had been the yerl himsel'. 

Oh, there had been nae play ; 
But Garlics was to London gane, 

iVnd sae the kye * might stray. 

And there was Balmaghie, I ween. 
In the front rank he wad shine; 

But Balmaghie had better been 
Drinking Madeira wine. 



' John Busby, Esq., of Tinwald Dowom. * Earl. 

•Mare, ♦ Stole. • Cowa 



Cowa, j I 



240 THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 

Frae the Glenken came to our aid 

A chief o' doughty deed, 
In case that worth should wanted be, 

O' Kenmore we had need. 

And there sae grave Squire Cardoness 
Looked on till a' was done : 

Sae, in the tower o' Cardoness, 
A howlet sits at noon. 

And there led I the Busbys a* ; 

My gamesome Billy Will, 
Aud my son Maitlaud, wise as bravev 

My footsteps followed still. 

The Douglas and the Herons' name 
We set nought to their score : 

The Douglas and the Herons' name 
Had felt our weight before. 

But Douglasses o' weight had we, 

A pair o' trusty lairds, 
For building cot-houses sae famed. 

And christening kaU-yards. 

And by our banners marched Muirhead, 
And Buittle was na slack ; 

Whose haly priesthood nane can stain, 
For wha can dye the black ? 



THE JOLLY BBGGAES.* 

A CANTATA. 
BECITATIVO. 

When lyart ' leaves bestrew the yird,* 
Or wavering like the bauckie-bird,* 
Bedim cauld Boreas' blast ; 

' This singular poem was suggested to Burns by Ms having accidentally 
dropped into a very low public-house in Mauchlin one niglit, accompanied 
by his two friends, .John Richmond and John Smith. The house was the 
haunt of beggars, a number of whom chanced to be assembled in it at 
the time. The landlady was a Mrs. Gibson, called by her guests "Poosie 
Nancy." The jollity of the vagrants amused the Poet, and he composed 
" The Jolly Beggars " a few days afterwards. 

* Withered-grey, of a mixed colour. * Eartb. 

♦ Bat. 



TEE JOLLY BEGGABS. ~ 241 

Wlien hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte, 
And infant frosts begin to bite, 

In hoary cranreuch ' drest ; 
Ae night, at e'en, a merry core 

O' randie. gangrel ' bodies, 
1 11 Poosie Nansie's held the splore,' 
To drink their orra duddies : * 
Wi' quaffing and laughing, 

They ranted and they sang; 
Wi' jumping and thumping, 
The vera girdle rang.^ 

First, neist the fire, in auld red rags, 
Ane sat, weel braced wi' mealy bags, 

And knapsack a' in order; 
His doxy lay within his arm, 
Wi' usquebae an' jjlankets warm-^ 

She blinket on her sodger : 
An' ay he gi'ed the tozie^ drab 

The tither skelpin' '^ kiss. 
While she held up her greedy gab 
Just like an aumos dish.^ 

Ilk smack still did crack still, 
Just like a cadger's whup, 
Then staggering and swaggering. 
He roared this ditty up : — 



Tune—" Soldier's Joy." 

I nin a son of Mars, who have been in many wars. 
And show my cuts and scars wherever I come ; 
Til is here was for a wench, and that other in a trench, 
When welcoming the French at the soiind of the drum. 
Lai de dandle, &c. 

My 'prenticeship I past where my leader breathed his last, 
When the bloody die was cast on the heights of Abram ; " 
I served oiit my trade when the gallant game was played. 
And the Moro ^^ low was laid at the sound of the drum. 
Lai de daudle, &c. 

* Hoar-frost. ' Vagrant. 
' Entertainment, frolic. * Rags. 

* The iron plate on which oaten cakes are baked. 

* Drunken. '' Smacking. 

' Alms-dish. A wooden bowl carried by beggars for the reception of 
broken victuals, oatmeal, &c. 

^ The heights of Abram were scaled by the British in their attack on 
Quebec, 1 759. The gallant Wolfe fell on the field of battle. 

'" The Moro was a strong castle, the citadel of the Havannah, the 
capital of Cuba- It was taken and destroyed in 1762 by English seamen. 



c 



-^ 



24^ TMM JOLLf BE&G/tM. 

I lastly was with Curtis, among tlie floating batt'ries/ 
And there I left for witness an arm and a limb ; 
Yet let my country need me, with Elliott '^ to head me, 
I 'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of a drum. 
Lai de daiidle, &c. 

And now though I must beg, witt a wooden arm and leg, 
And many a tattered rag hangirjg over my bum, 
•. 'm as happy with my wallet, E.y bottle, and my callet. 
As when I used in scarlet to fc2ow a drum. 
Lai de daudle, &c. 

What though, tivjO. Iioary !ocks, I must stand the winter 

shocks. 
Beneath the woods and rocks oftentimes for a home. 
When the tother bag I stil', and the tother bottle tell, 
I could meet a troop of hell 8,t the sound of a drum. 
Lai de daudle, &c. 

KECITATIVO. 

He endea and the kebars ' sheuk 

Aboon the chorus' roar ; 
While frighted rattons * backward leuk. 

And seek the benmost bore." 

A fairy fiddler, fra the neuk. 

He skirled out, Encore ! 
But up arose the martial chuck. 

And laid the loud uproar. 

AIB. 

Tune—" Soldier Laddie." 

I once was a maid, though I cannot tell when, 
And still my delight is in proper young mea ; 
Some one of a troop of dragoons was my daddie^ 
No wonder I 'm fond of a sodger laddie. 
Sing, lal de lal, &c. 

The first of my loves was a swaggering blade, 
To rattle the thundering drum was his trade; 
His leg was so tight, and his cheek was so ruddy. 
Transported I was with my sodger laddie. 
Sing, lal de lal, &c. 

1 The floating batteries of the Spaniards at the siege of Gibraltai% 
1782. Captain Curtis greatly distinguished himself in the work of theii' 
destruction. 

* General Elliott, who gallantly defended Gibraltar in the same siegSj 
1782. He was created Lord Heathfield. 

•" Rafters. * S..ts. " Innermost hole In the waU» 



Jp 



TEE JOLLY BEGGARS. 243 

Bnt the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch ; 
The sword I forsook for the sake of the church ; 
He ventured the soul, and I risked the body — 
'Twas then I proved false to my sodger laddie. 
Sing, lal de lal, &c. 

Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot, 
The regiment at large for a husband I got ; 
From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was rea-ly, 
I asked no more but a sodger laddie. 
Sing, lal de lal, &c. 

But the peace it reduced me to beg in despaii*, 
Till I met my old boy at a Cunningham fair ; 
His rags regimental they fluttered so gaudy, 
My heart it rejoiced at a sodger laddie. 
Sing, lal de lal, &c. 

And now I have lived — I know not how long, 
And still I can join in a cup or a song; 
But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steady, 
Here 'a to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie ! 
Sing, lal de lal, &c. 

KECITATIVO. 

Poor Merry Andrew in the neuk - 

Sat guzzling wi' a tinkler hizzie ; 
They mind't na wha the chorus teuk, 

Between themselves they were sae busy; 
At length wi' drink and courting dizzy. 

He stoitered ' up an' made a face ; 
Then turned, an' laid a smack on Grizzie, 

Syne tuned his pipes wi' grave grimace. 



Tone— " Auld Sir Symon." 

Sir Wisdom's a fool when he 's fon; 

Sir Knave is a fool in a session; 
He 's there but a 'prentice I trow. 

But I am a fool by profession. 

My grannie she bought me a beuk 
And I held awa' to the school ; 

I fear I my talent misteuk, — 
But what will ye ha'e of a fool? 

' Staggered. 



S44 THE JOLLY BEGOaWS. 

For drink I would venture my rieckj 
A hizzie 's the half o' my craft , 

But what could ye other expect 
Of ane that's avowedly daftP 

I ance was tiedup like a stirk , 
For civilly swearing and quaffing i 

I ance was abused in the kirk, 
For touzling a lass i' my daffin. 

Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport, 
Let naebody name wi' a jeer : 

There 's even, I 'm tauld, i' the Court 
A Tumbler ca'd the Premier. 

Observed ye yon reverend lad 
Mak' faces to tickle the mob? 

He rails at our mouuteljank squad, — 
It 's rivalship just i' the job. 

And now my conclusion I '11 tell. 

For, faith, I 'm confoundedly dry ; 
The chiel that's a fool for hinisel', 
Gude Lord ! he 's far datter than L 

REGIT A.TIVO. 

Then neist outspak' a raucle carlin,' 
Wha ken't fu' weel to cleek the sterling, 
For monie a pursie she had hookit. 
And had in monie a well been doukit. 
Her love had been a Highland laddie, 
But weary fa' the waefu' woodie ! ^ 
Wi' sighs and sobs she thus began 
To waS her braw John Highlandman. 

AIR. 

Ttme — " an' ye were dead, gudeman." 

A Highland lad my love was born • 
The Lawland laws he held in scorn • 
But he still was faithfu' to his clan, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 



Sing, hey my braw John Highlandman i 
Sing, ho my braw John Highlandman! 
There 's i.ot a lad in a' the Ian' 
"Was match for my John Highlandman. 

* Bullock. * Stout elderly woman. ^ Rope (of the gallowfl). 



THE JOLLY BEGGARS. S46 

With his philibeg an' tartan plaid. 
An' guid claymore down by his side, 
The ladies' hearts he did trepan, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, 
An' lived like lords and ladies gay, 
For a Lawland face he feared nane, 
My gallant braw John Highlandmfin. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

They banished him beyond the sea, 
But, ere the bud was on the tree, 
A down my cheeks the pearls ran, 
Embracing my John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

But, oh ! they catched him at the last, 
And bound him in a dungeon fast ; 
My curse upon them every one ! 
They 've hanged my braw John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

And now a widow, I must mourn 
The pleasures that will ne'er return; 
Nae comfort but a hearty can 
When I think on John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &e. 

EECITATIVO. 

A pigmy scraper, wi' his fiddle, 

Wha used at trysts and fairs to driddle,' 

Her strappan limb and gaucy ^ middle, 

(He reached nae higher,) 
Had holed his heartie like a riddle, 

An' blawn't on fire. 

Wi' hand on haunch, an' upward e'e. 
He crooned his gamut, one, two, three, 
Then in an arioso key. 

The wee Apollo 
Set off wi' allegretto glee 
His giga solo 

Flay. ' My. 



"% 



9 



246 TUB JOLLY BEGGARS. 

AIR. 

Tune— " Whistle o'er the lave o't." 

Let me ryke ' up to dight * that tear, 
And go wi' rae and be my dear, 
And then your every care and fear 
May whistle owre the lave o't. 

CHOKTJS. 

I am a fiddler to my trade, 
And a' the tunes that e'er I played, 
The sweetest still to wife or maid, 
Was whistle owre the lave o't. 

At kirns and weddings we'se be there, 
And oh ! sae nicely 's we will fare ; 
We '11 bouse about till Daddy Care 
Sings whistle owre the lave o't. 

I am, &c. 

Sae merrily the banes we '11 pyke,' 
And sun oursel's about the dyke. 
And at our leisure, when ye like, 
We '11 whistle owre the lave o't. 

I am, &C. 

But bless me wi' your heaven o' charms, 
And while I kittle * hair on thairms,* 
Hunger, cauld, and a' sic harms. 
May whistle owre the lave o't. 

I am, &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

Her charms had struck a sturdy caird° 

As weel as poor gut-scraper ; 

He tak's the fiddler by the beard. 

And draws a roosty rapier. 

He swoor by a' was swearing worth, 

To speet him like a pliver. 
Unless he wad from that time forth 

Relinquish her for ever. 

Wi' ghastly e'e, poor tweedle-dee 

Upon his hunkers bended, 
And prayed for grace wi' ruefu' face : 

And sae the quarrel ended. 

• Reach. * Wipe. ^ Bod'-s we'll pich 

* Tickle. • Fiddle-strings. ' Qipsy. 



-1 



THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 247 

But though his little heart did grieve, 

When round the tinkler pressed her, 
He feigned to snirtle^ in his sleeve, 

When thus the caird addressed her : — 



AIR. 

Tune — " Clout the candron." 

My bonny lass, I work in brass, 

A tinkler is my station ; 
I've travelled round all Christian ground, 

In this my occupation. 
I've ta'en the gold, I've been enrolled 

In many a noble squadron ; 
But vain they searched when off I marched 

To go and clout the caudron. 

I've ta'en the gold, &c. 

Despise that shrimp, that withered imp, 

Wi' a' his noise and caperin'. 
And tak' a share wi' those that bear 

The budget and the apron. 
And by that stoup, my faith and honp, 

And by that dear Kilbagie,^ 
If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant. 

May I ne'er weet my craigie.^ 

An' by that stoup, &e. 

RECITATIVO. 

The caird prevailed— th' unblushing fair 

In his embraces sunk, 
Partly wi' love, o'ercome sae sair, 

An' partly she was drunk. 
Sir Violino, with an air 

That showed a man of spunk, 
Wished union between the pair, 

An' made the bottle clunk 

To their health that night. 

But urchin Cupid shot a shaft. 

That played a dame a shavie, 
The fiddler raked her fore and aft, 

Behint the chicken cavie. 

' Tjaugh. 

' A peculiar sort of whiskey, so called from Kilbagie distillery, in 
Cla ckmannanshire. 
' Wet my throat. 



848 THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 

Her lord, a wight o' Homer's craft,^ 

Thougli limping wi' the spavie, 
He liirpled '^ up, and lap like daft, 

And shored" them Dainty Davy 
0' boot that night. 

|1 
ITe was a care-defying blade fi 

As ever Bacchus listed, | 

Though Fortune sair upon him laid, ^ 

His heart she ever missed it. 
He had nae wish but — to be glad, 

Nor want but — when he thirsted ; 
lie hated nought but — to be sad, c 

And thus the Muse suggested f 

His sang that night. 



AIR. 
Tone — ** For a' that, an' a' that." 

I am a bard of no regard, 

Wi' gentle folks, an' a' that ; 
But Homer-like, the glowran byl:e,* 

Frae town to town I draw that. 

CHORUS. 

For a' that, an' a' that. 

An' twice as muckle's a* that ; 

I 've lost but ane, I 've twa behin*, 
I 've wife enough for a' that. 

1 never drank the Muses' stank,* 

Castalia's burn, an' a' that ; 
But there it streams, and richly reams* 

My Helicon I ca' that. 

For a' that, &c. 

Great love T bear to a' the fair. 
Their humble slave, an' a' tbnt; 

But lordly will, I hold it still 
A mortal sin to thraw that. 

For a' that, &c. 

• Ballad-singing. Homer is thought to be the oldest strolling mlnvtrd 
on record. 
' Crept. " Threatened. 

' Staring swarm (byte is a beehive). * Pool. 



fp 



r 



THE JOLLY BEGGARS 249 

la raptures sweet, this hour we meet, 

Wi' mntual love, an' a' that ; 
But for how lang the flee may stang, 

Let inclination law that. 

For a' that, &c. 

Their tricks and craft ha'e put me daft, 

They've ta'en me in, an' a' that ; 
But clear your decks, and here 's the sex J 

I like the jades for a' that. 



For a' that, an' a' that, 

An' twice as muckle's a' that; 

My dearest bluid, to do them guid. 
They're welcome till't for a' that. 

RECITATIVO. 

So sang the bard — and Nancie's wa's 
Shook wi' a thunder of applause. 

Re-echoed from each mouth ; 
They toomed ' their pocks, an' pawned their dnds,^ 
They scarcely left to co'er their fuds. 

To quench their lowan drouth.^ 
Then owre again the jovial thrang 

The poet did request, 
To loose his pack an' wale a sang, 
A ballad o' the best. 

He, rising, rejoicing, 

Between his twa Deborahs, 
Looks round him, and found them 
Lnpatient for the chorus. 

Am. 
Tune — "Jolly mortals, fill your glasses.** 

See, the smoking bowl before us ! 

Mark our jovial ragged ring ! 
Bound and round take up the chorus, 

And in raptures let us sing. 

CHORUS. 

A fig for those by law protected ! 

Liberty 'a a glorious feast I 
Courts for cowards were erected, 
Churches built to please the priest. 

Emptied their packs. ' Pawned theii rags. ^ Burning thirst 



o 



260 THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 

What is title ? what is treasure 
What is reputation's care P 

If we lead a life of pleasure, 
'Tis no matter how or where. 

A fig, &0. 

With the ready trick and fable, 
Round we wander all the day ; 

And at night, in barn or stable. 
Hug our doxies on the hay. 

A fig, &o. 

Does the train-attended carriage 
Through the country lighter rove F 

Does the sober bed of marriage 
Witness brighter scenes of love ? 
A fig, &c. 

Life is all a variorum, 

We regard not how it goes ; 

Let them cant about decorum 
Who have characters to lose. 

A fig, &0. 

Here 's to budgets, bags, and wallets I 
Here 's to all the wandering train ! 

Here 's our ragged brats and callets I 
One and all cry out — Amen ! 

A fig for those by law protected ! 

Liberty 's a glorious feast ! 
Courts for cowards were erected. 

Churches built to please the priest 



^ 



crnqfS* 



MY HANDSOME FELL, 

Tune — "I am a man unmarried." 

[Nelly Blair, the heroine of this song, was a servant in Ayrshire. 
"This composition," says Burns, "was the first of my performances, 
and (lone at an early period of my life, when my heart glowed with 
honest, warm simplicity, unacquainted and uncorrupted with the ways of 
a wicked world."] 

Oh, once I loved a bonnie lass, 

Ay, and I love her still ; 
And whilst that virtue warms my breast 
I '11 love my handsome Nell. 

Fal, lal de ral, &o. 

As bonnie lasses I ha'e seen, 

And mony full as braw ; 
But for a modest, gracefu' mieil« 

The like I never saw. 

A bonnie lass, I will confess, 

Is pleasant to the e'e, 
But without some better qualities 

She 's no a lass for me. 

But Nelly's looks are bHthe and sweet i 

Aud, what is best of a'. 
Her reputation is complete, 

And fair without a flaw. 

She dresses aye aae clean and neat. 

Baith decent and genteel ; 
And then there's something inter gait 

Gars * ony dress look weel. 

' Makes. 



J - - ~ ~- rTI 



262 LUCKLESS FORTUNE. 

A gandy dress and gentle air 
May slightly touch the heart; 

But it 's Innocence and Modesty 
That polishes the dart. 

'Tis this in Nelly pleases me, 
'Tis this enchants my soul I 

For absolutely in my breast 
She reigns without controL 



LUCKLESS FOETUNB. 

Oti, raging Fortune's withering blast 
Has laid my leaf full low, ! 

Oh, raging Fortune's withering blast 
Has laid my leaf full low, ! 

My stem was fair, my bud was greea. 
My blossom sweet did blow, O ; 

The dew fell fresh, the sun rose mild. 
And made my branches grow, 0. 

But luckless Fortune's northern storms 
Laid a' my blossoms low, O ; 

But luckless Fortune's northern storms 
Laid a' my blossoms low, 0. 



I DREAMED I LAY WHERE FLOWERS WERE 
SPRINGING. 

["These stanzas," says the Poet, " which are amongst the oldesi oT a^ 
printed pieces, I composed when I was seventeen."] 

I DBEAMED I lay where flowers were springing 

Gaily in the sunny beam. 
Listening to the wild birds singing 

By a falHng crystal stream : 
Straight the sky grew black and daring ; 

Through the woods the whirlwinds rave; 
Trees with aged arms were warring. 

O'er the swelUng, drumlie wave. 



TIBBIE, I EA'E SEEN THE DAY. 253 

Such was my life's deceitful morning. 

Such the pleasures I enjoyed ; 
But lang or noon, loud tempests storming, 

A' my flowery bliss destroyed. 
Though fickle Fortune has deceived me, 

( She promised fair and performed but ill,) 
Of mony a joy and hope bereaved me, 

I bear a heart shall support me stilL 



O TIBBIE, I HA'E SEEN THE DAY. 

[Composed at seventeen years of age. 1 
Tune — " Invercauld's Reel.** 



O Tibbie ! I ha'e seen the day 

Ye wad na been sae shy ; 
For laik o' gear ye lightly me, 

But, trowth, I care na by. 

Testreen I met you on the moor, 
Ye spak' na, but gaed by Uke stoure 
Y"e geek at me because I'm poor, 
But fient a hair care I. 

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think. 
Because ye ha'e the name o' clink, 
That ye can please me at a wink, 
Whene'er ye Uke to try. 

But sorrow tak' him that's sae mean. 
Although his pouch o' coin were clean, 
Wha follows such a saucy quean, 
That looks sae proud and high. 

Although a lad were e'er sae smart, 
If that he want the yellow dirt, 
Ye'U cast your head anither airt. 
And answer him fu' dry. 

But if he ha'e the name o' gear, 
Ye'U fasten to him like a brier, 
Though hardly he, for sense or lear. 
Be better than the kye. 

' "Tibbie" was the daughter of a portioner of Kyle — i.e. the pro- 
prietor of three acres of peat-moss — who thought herself rich enough t<j 
treat a ploughman with contempt. 



a 



S54 MY FATHER WAS A FARMER. 

But, Tibbie, lass, tak' my advice : 
Tour daddie's gear mak's you sae nio0J 
The de'il a ane wad spier your price, 
Were ye as poor as I. 

There lives a lass in yonder park, 
I would nae gi'e her in her sark 
For thee, wi' a' thy thousan' mark ! 
Ye need na look sae high. 



MY FATHER WAS A FARMEE. 
Tune— "The Weaver and his shuttle, 0." 

Mt father was a farmer 

Upon the Carrick border, O, 
And carefully he bred me 

In decency and order, ; 
He bade me act a manly part, 

Though I had ne'er a farthing, O, 
For without an honest, manly heart. 

No man was worth regarding, O. 

Then out into the world 

My course I did determine, ; 
Though to be rich was not my wish. 

Yet to be great was charming, 0. 
My talents they were not the worst,, 

Nor yet my education, ; 
Besolved was I at least to try 

To mend my situation, 0. 

In many a way, and vain essay, 

I courted Fortune's favour, O; 
Some cause unseen still stept between 

To frustrate each endeavour; : 
Sometimes by foes I was o'erpowered ; 

Sometimes by friends forsaken, ; 
And when my hope was at the top, 

I still was worst mistaken, 0. 

Then sore harnssed, and tired at lastr 

With Fortune's vain delusion, 0, 
I dropt my schemes, like idle dreaias, 

And came to this conclusion, O : 
The past was bad, and the future hid; 

It 's good or iU untried, O ; 
But the present hour was in my power, 

And 80 I would enjoy it, 0. 



r 



ill 

MT FATHER WAS A FARMER. 266 

No help, nor hope, nor view had I, 

Nor person to befriend me, O ; 
So I must toil, and sweat, and broil. 

And labour to sustain me, 0. 
To plough and sow, to reap and mow, 

My father bred me early, O ; 
For one, he said, to labour bred, 

Was a match for fortune fairly, 0. 

Thus, all obscure, unknown and poor, 

Through Hfe I'm doomed to wander, O, 
Till down my weary bones I lay, 

In everlasting slumber, 0. 
Ko view nor care, but shun whate'er 

Might breed me pain or sorrow, O ; 
I live to-day as well 's I may, 

Eegardless of to-morrow, O. 

Bat cheerful still, I am as well 

As a monarch in a palace, 0, 
Though Fortune's frown still hunts me down 

With all her wonted malice, ; 
I make indeed my daily bread, 

But ne'er can make it farther, O ; 
But, as daily bread is aU I need, 

I do not much regard her, O. 

When sometimes by my labour 

I earn a little money, O, 
Some unforeseen misfortune 

Comes gen'rally upon me, O ; 
Mischance, mistake, or by neglect, 

Or my good-natured folly, O : 
Eat come what will, I've sworn it still, 

I'U ne'er be melancholy, 0. 

All you who follow wealth and power 

With unremitting ardour, 0, 
The more in this you look for bliss, 

You leave your view the farther, O. 
Had you the wealth Potosi boasts. 

Or nations to adore you, O, 
A cheerful honest-hearted clown 

I win prefer before you, 0. 



t 



266 

THE RIGS 0* BARLEY. 
Ttine — " Com rigs are bonnie.'' 

It was upon a Lammas night, 

Wlien com rigs are bonnie, 
Beneath the moon's unclouded light 

I held awa' to Annie : 
The time flew by wi' tentless heed, 

'Tin 'tween the late and early, 
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed 

To see me through the barley. 

The sky was blue, the wind was still. 

The moon was shining clearly ; 
I set her down, wi' right good will, 

Amang the rigs o' barley : 
I ken't her heart was a' my ain; 

I loved her most sincerely ; 
I kissed her owre and owre again 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

I locked her in my fond embrace; 

Her heart was beating rarely; 
My blessings on that happy place 

Amang the rigs o' barley ! 
But by the moon and stars so bright. 

That shone that hour so clearly I 
She aye shall bless that happy night 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

I ha'e been blithe wi' comrades dear 

I ha'e been merry drinkin' ; 
I ha'e been joyfu' gatherin' geax; 

I ha'e been happy thinkin' : 
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, 

Though three times doubled fairly. 
That happy night was worth them a' 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

CHORUS, 

Com rigs, an' barley rigs. 
An' corn rigs are bonnie : 

I '11 ne'er forget that happy nighty 
Amang the rigs wi' Annie. 



-il= 



257 

WONTGOMERY'S PEGGY.' 
Tune--" Galla Water." 

A I THOUGH my bed were in yon muir, 
Amang the heather, in my plaidie, 

Yet happy, happy would I be, 

Had I my dear Montgomery's Peggy. 

When o'er the hill beat sturly storms, 
And winter nights were dark and rainy 

I 'd seek some dell, and in ray arms 
i 'd shelter dear Montgomery's Peggy. 

Were I a baron, proud and high, 

A nd horse and servants waiting ready. 

Then a' 'twad gi'e o' joy to me, 

The sharin't wi' Montgomery's Peggy. 



THE MAUCHLINE LADY. 
TuT!"? — "I had a horse and I had nae man-." 

When first I came to Stewart Kyle, 

My mind it was na steady ; 
Where'er I gaed, where'er I rade, 

A mistress still I had aye. 

But when I came roun' by Mauchliue to\rn 

Not dreadin' ony body, 
My heart was caught before I thought. 

And by a Mauchline lady. ' 



THE HIGHLAND LASSIE.* 

Tune— " The deuks dang o'er my daddy ! " 

Nae gentle dames, though e'er sae fair, 
Shall ever be my muse's care : 
Their titles a' are empty show ; 
Gi'e me my Highland Lassie, O. 

' "This fragment is done," says Burus, " something in imitation of 
the manner of a noble old Scottish piece called ' M'Millan's Peggie.' " 

'■' Jean Armour, afterwards his wife. 

•'' " My Highland Lassie," observes Burns, " was a warm-hearted, charm- 
ing young creature, as ever blest a man witii generous love. After a 

s 



Jp 



258 



PEGGY. 



Within the glen sae bushy, O, 
Aboon the plains sae rushy, 0, 
I set me down wi' right good will. 
To sing my Highland Lassie, 0, 

Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine, 
Yon palace and yon gardens fine ; 
The world then the love should know 
[ bear my Highland Lassie, 0. 

But fickle fortune frowns on me, 
And I maun cross the raging sea; 
But while my crimson currents flow, 
I'll love my Highland Lassie, 0. 

Although through foreign climes I ranpe, 
I know her heart will never change, 
For her bosom burns with honour's glow, 
My faithful Highland Lassie, 0. 

For her I '11 dare the billows' roar, 
For her I '11 trace the distant shore, 
That Indian wealth may lustre throw 
Around my Highland Lassie, 0. 

She has my heart, she has my hand : 
By sacred truth and honour's band, 
'Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low, 
I 'm thine, my Highland Lassie, ! 

Fareweel the glen sae bushy, ! 
Fareweel the plain sae rushy, ! 
To other lands I now must go. 
To sing my Highland Lassie, ! 



PEGGY. 
Tune — " I had a horse, and I had nae mair." 

Now westlin' winds and slaughtering guns 

Bring autumn's pleasant weather ; 
The moorcock springs, on whirring wings, 

Amang the blooming heather : 

pretty long tract of the most ardent reciprocal attachment, we met by 
appointment, on the second Sunday of May, in a sequestered spot by tlie 
banks of the Ayr, where we spent the day in taking a farewell, before 
she should embark for the West Highlands, to arrange matters among her 
friends for our projected chance of life. At the close of autumn she 
crossed the sea to meet me at Greenock, where she had scarce landed 
when she was seized with a malignant fever, whicli hurried my dear girl 
to the grave, before I could even hear of her illness." 



OU, THAT I HAD NE'ER BEEN MAHRIED. iJOO 

Naw waving grain, wide o'er the plain, 

Delights the weary farmer ; 
And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night. 

To muse upon my charmer. 

The partridge loves the fruitful fells; 

The plover loves the mountains ; 
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells 

The soaring hern the fountains : 
Through lofty groves the cushat roves. 

The path of man to shun it ; 
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush, 

The spreading thorn the linnet. 

Thus every kind their pleasure find — 

The savage and the tender ; 
Some social join, and leagues combine; 

Some solitary wander. 
Avaunt, away ! the cruel sway, 

Tyrannic Man's dominion ; 
The sportsman's joy, the murdering cry. 

The fluttering, gory pinion ! 

But, Peggy dear, the evening's clear, 

Thick flies the skimming swallow ; 
The sky is blue, the fields in view, 

All fading-green and yellow : 
Come, let iis stray our gladsome way, 

And view the charms of Nature; 
The rusthng corn, the fruited thorn. 

And every happy creature. 

We '11 gently walk, and s^^eetly talk. 

Till the silent moon shine clearly ; 
I '11 grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest. 

Swear how I love thee dearly : 
"Not vernal showers to budding flowers, 

Not autumn to the farmer, 
So dear can be as thou to me. 

My fair, my lovely charmer 1 



OH, THAT I HAD NE'ER BEEN MARllIEDI 

[The song is an old one ; the last verse only by Bums. 

Oil, that I had ne'er been married! 
I wad never had nae care ; 



J 



t 



260 TEE RAN TIN' DOG TEE DADDIE ^1. 

Now I 've gotten wife and bairns, 
And they cry crowdie ' ever mair. 
Ance crowdie, twice crowdie. 

Three times crowdie in a day; 
Gin ye crowdie ony mair. 
Ye '11 crowdie a' my meal away. 

Waefu' want and hunger fley me, 

Glowrin' by the hallan en';* 
8uir I fecht them at the door, 

But aye I 'm eerie ^ they come ben. 
Ance crowdie, twice crowdie. 

Three times crowdie in a day ; 
Gin ye crowdie ony mair. 

Ye '11 crowdie a' my meal away. 



THE RANTIN' DOG THE DADDIE O'T. 
Tnne— "East nook o' Fife." 

Oh, wha my baby-clouts wUl buyP 
Oh, wha will tent me when I cry ? 
Wha will kiss me where I lie ? — 
The rantin' dog the daddie o 't. 

Oh, wha will own he did the fau't ? 
Oh, wha will buy the groanin' ma it 2 
Oh, wha will tell me how to ca 't P — 
The rantin' dog the daddie o 't. 

When I mount the creepie chair,* 
Wha will sit beside me there ? 
Gi'e me Rob, 1 '11 seek nae mair, — 
The rantin' dog the daddie o 't. 

Wha will crack to me my lane ? 
Wlia will mak' me fidgin'-fain P • 
Wha will kiss me o'er again ? — 
The rantin' dog the daddie o 't. 

' A composition of oatmeal and boiled water, or sometimes made with 
broth. 

* Seat of turf outside a cottage. ^ Frightened. 

* Stool of repentance. 

* Fidgin'-fain — fidgeting vrith delight, tickled with pleasure. 



261 



MY HEART WAS ANCB AS BLITHE AND FREE 

Tune — " To the weavers gin ye go." 

My heart was ance as blithe and free 

As simmer days were lang, 
But a bonnie westlin weaver lad 
Has gart me change my sang. 

To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids 

To the weavers gin ye go ; 
I rede you right gang ne'er at nighti. 
To the weavers gin ye go. 

My mither sent me to the town. 

To warp a plaiden wab ; 
But the weary, weary warpin' o *t 

Has gart me sigh and sab. 

A bonnie westlin weaver lad 

Sat working at his loom ] 
He took my heart as wi' a net, 

In every knot and thrum. 

I sat beside my warpin'-wheel, 

And aye I ca'd it roun' ; 
But every shot and every knock, 

My heart it ga'e a stoun. 

The moon was sinking in the west 

Wi' visage pale and wan, 
As my bonnie westhn weaver lad 

Convoyed me through the glen. 

But what was said, or what was done^ 

Shame fa' me gin I tell ; 
But, oh ! I fear the kiutra soon 
Will ken as weel 's mysel'. 

To the weavers gin ye go, fair maida. 

To the weavers gm ye go ; 
I rede you right gang ne'er at night, 
To the weavers gin ye go. 



IL 



q 



262 



GTJDE'EN TO YOU, ETMMEH. 

Tune — " We're a' noddin'." 

GxjDE 'ex to yon, kurnner. 

And how do ye do ? 
Hiccup, quo kimmer, 

The better that I 'm fon. 

We 're a' noddin', nid, nid, noddin', 
We 're a' noddin' at our house at hame. 

Kate sits i' the neuk, 

Suppin' hen broo ; 
De'H tak' Kate, 

An' she be na noddin' too 1 

How 's a' wi' you, kimmer, 

And how do ye fare ? 
A. pint o' the best o % 

And twa pints mair. 

How 's a' wi' you, kimmer, 

And how do ye thrive ? 
How mony bairns ha'e ye ? 

Quo' kimmer, I ha'e five. 

Are they a' Johnny's ? 

Eh ! atweel na : 
Twa o' them were gotten 

When Johnny was awa*. 

Cats like milk, 

And dogs like broo, 
Ijads Hke lasses weel. 
And lasses lads too. 

We're a' noddin', nid, nid, noddin'. 
We're a' noddin' at our house at hame.' 

' Then ia another version of the sixth verse and the chorus in a letter 
to Mr. Robert Ainslie, jun., dated 23rd of August, 17S7, which we 
subjoin : — 

The cats like kitchen ; 
The dogs like broo ; 
The lasses like the lads weel. 
And th" auld wives too. 

OHOBUS. 

And were a' noddin', 
Nid, nid, noddiu'. 
We're a' noddin tou at e'ea. 



268 



A FRAGMENT. 
Tune — " John Anderson my Jo." 

One nigHt as I did wander. 

When com begins to slioot, 
I sat me down to ponder, 

Upon an auld tree root : 
Auld Ayr ran by before me, 

And bickered to tbe seas ; 
A cushat' crowded o'er me, 

That echoed through the braes. 



WHY THE DEUCE SHOULD I EEPmEt 
[Written extempore, April, 1782.] 

WHY the deuce should I repine, 
An' be an ill foreboder ? 

I'm twenty -three, and five feet nine — 
I'll go and be a sodger. 

1 ;' :t some gear wi' meikle care, 
1 held it well thegither ; 

But now it's gane, iuul something mair — 
I'll go and be a sodger. 



EOBm SHURE m HAIEST. 

CHOHUS. 

Robin shure in hairst,* 

I shure ^ wi' him ; 
Fient a heuk * had I, 

Yet I stack by him. 

I gaed up to Dunse, 

To warp a wab o' plaiden; 
At his daddie's yett,* 

Wha met me but Robin ? 

* Wood-pigeon or do^e. ^ E.eaped at harvest time. 

^ Heaped. * Not a sickle. * Gate. 



1 



264 SWEETEST MAY. 

Was iia Eobin bauld, 

Though I was a cotter. 
PLiyed me sic a trick — 
And me the eller's docliterl' 



Robin promised me 

A' my winter vittle ; 
Fient haet ^ he had but three 

Goose feathers and a whittle. 
Robin sbure, &o. 



SWEETEST MAY. 

Sweetest May, let love inspire thees 
Take a heart which he desires thee ; 
As thy constant slave regard it; 
For its faith, and trutli reward it. 

Proof o' shot to birth or money, 
JSTot the wealthy, but the bonnie ; 
Not high-born, but noble-minded. 
In love's silken band can bind it 1 



WHEN I THINK ON THE HAPPT DAY& 



When I think on the hapjjy days 
I spent wi' you, my dearie ; 

And now what lands between us lie. 
How can I be but eerie ! 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours. 
As ye were wae and weary ! 

It was na sae ye glinted by 
When I was wi' my dearie. 



' Eider's daughter. * Nothing. 



Q 



MY NAljq'NIE, 01 

Time—" My Nannie, 0.** 

[The heroine of this song was Nannie Fleming, a servant at CalcotMIl, 
near Lochlea.] 

Behind you hills, where Lugar ' flowa, 

'Ma.ng moors an' mosses many, 0, 
The -v/intry sun the day has closed, 
And I "U awa' to Nannie, 0. 

The westlin' wind blows lond an' shrill ; 

The night's baiih mirk and rainy, O; 
But I '11 get my plaid, an' out I '11 steal. 

An' owre the hills to Nannie, 0. 

My Nannie's channing, sweet, an' youngs 

Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, ; 
May ill beta' the flattering tongue 
That wad beguile my Nannie, 0! 

Her face is fair, her heart is true, 

As spotless as she 's bonnie, O ; 
The opening gowan,* wet wi' dew, 

Nae purer is than Nannie, O. 

A country lad is my degree, 

An' few there be that ken me. 0| 
But what care I how few they be ? 

I'm welcome aye to Nannie, O. 

My riches a's my penny-fee. 

An' I maun guide it can7\ie, 0. 
But warl's gear ne'er trouljles me. 

My' thoughts are a' my Nannie, O. 

Our auld guidman delights to view 
His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie, 0; 

But I'm as blithe that bauds his pleugh. 
An' has nae care but Nannie, O. 

Oome weel, come woe, I care na by, 
I'll tak' what Henven will sen' me, 0; 

Nae ither care in life havo I, 
But live an' love my Nannie, O. 

Orij;inal!y Stinchar. * Daisy, 



_jr 



GREEN GROW THE RASHES 
lA fragment.] 

CHORUS. 

Green grow the raslies, ! 

Green grow the rashes, ! 
The sweetest hours that e'er I spent. 

Were spent amang the lasses, ! 

There's nought but care on every hau'. 
In every hour that passes, : 

What signifies the Hfe o' man, 
An' 'twere na for the lasses, ? 

The warly race may riches chase, 
An' riches still may fiy them, ; 

An' though at last they catch them fast^ 
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, 0^ 

But gi'e me a canny hour at e'en. 
My arms about my dearie, O ; 

An' warly cares, an' warly men, 
May a' gae tapsalteerie, ! 

For you sae douse, ye sneer at this, 
Te're nought but senseless asses, 

The wisest man the warl' e'er saw. 
He dearly loved the lasses, 0. 

Auld ISTature swears the lovely dears 
Her noblest work she classes, ; 

Her 'prentice han' she tried on man, 
An' then she made the lasses, O. 



MENIB. 
Tune — "Jockey's grey breeka." 

Again rejoicing Nature sees 

Her robe assume her vernal hues, 

Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, 
All freshly steeped in morning deWB. 



MENIE. 'iiSi 

CHOKTJS.' 

And maun I still on Menie ^ doat, 
And bear the scorn that's in her e'e P 

For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk. 
An' it winna let a body be ! 

In vain to me the cowslips blaw ; 

In vain to me the violets spring; 
In vain to me, in glen or shaw, 

The mavis ^ and the lint white ^ sing. 

The merry ploughboy cheers his team ; 

Wi' joy the tentie ^ seedsman stalks ; 
But life to me's a weary dream, 

A dream of ane that never wauks. 

The wanton coot the water skims; 

Amang the reeds the ducklings cry; 
The stately swan majestic swims, 

And every thing is blest but I. 

The shepherd steaks his faulding slap," 
And owre the moorlands whistles shrill ; 

Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step 
I meet him on the dewy hill. 

And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, 
Blithe waukens by the daisy's side, 

And mounts and sings on flittering wings, 
A woe-worn ghaist I hameward ghde. 

Come, Winter, with thine angry howl. 

And, raging, bend the naked tree ; 
Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul. 

When Nature ail is sad like me ! 

CHOUUS. 

And maun I still on Menie doat, 

And bear the scorn that's in her e'e P 

For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk, 
An' it winna let a body be: 

• This cliorus is part of a song composed by a gentleman in Edinburgli, 
a particular friend of the Aiuhor's 

■■^ Menie is the common abbreviation of Marianne. ^ Thrush. 

* Linnet. ' Careful. * Gate. 



268 



THE BONNIE BANKS OF AYR. 

[Composed when the Poet thought of leaving Scotland, and going to the 
West Indies.] 

Tune— "Roslin Castle." 

The gloomy night is gatli'ring fast, 
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast ; 
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, 
I see it driving o'er the plain ; 
The hunter now has left the moor, 
The scattered coveys meet secure, 
While here I wander, pressed with care^ 
Along the lonely banks of Ayr. 

The Autumn mourns her ripening corn 
By early Winter's ravage torn ; 
Across her placid azure sky 
She sees the scowling tempest fly : 
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave ; 
I think upon the stormy wave. 
Where many a danger I must dare, 
Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr. 

*Tis not the surging billow's roar ; 
'Tis not that fatal deadly shore ; 
Though death in every shape appear, 
The wretched have no more to fear : 
But round my heart the ties are bound, 
That heart transpierced with many a wound* 
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, 
To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr. 

Farewell, old Coila's hUls and dales ! 
Her heathy moors and winding vales ; 
The scenes where wretched fancy roves. 
Pursuing past unhappy loves ! 
Farewell, my friends ! farewell, my foes ! 
My peace with these, my love with those : — 
The bursting tears my heart declare, 
Farewell the bonnie banks of Ayr ! 



1_ 



MY JEAN.* 

[Composed at the same period.] 

Tune — "The Northern Lass." 

Though cruel Fate should bid us r'art, 

Far as the Pole and Line, 
Her dear idea round my heart 

Should tenderly entwine. 
Though mountains rise, and deserts howl. 

And oceans roar between ; 
Yet, dearer than my deathless soul, 

I still would love my Jean. 



RANTIN' EOVIN' EOBIN. 

[This song, it is said, commemorates an incident which occurred when 
Robert Burns was born.] 

Tune — " Daintie Davie." 

There was a lad was born in Kyle," 
But what'n a day o' what'n a style 
I doubt it's hardly worth the while 
To be sae nice wi' E.obin. 
Robin was a rovin' boy, 

Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin'; 
Robin was a rovin' boy, 
Rantin' rovin' Robin ! 

Onr monarch's hindmost year but ano 
Was five-and-twenty days begun, 
'Twas then a blast o' Janwar win' 
Blew hansel in on Robin. 

The gossip keeldt' in his loof ;* 
Quo' she, Wha lives will see the proof, 
This waly ' boy will be nae coof,® — 
I think we'll ca' him Robin. 

He'll hae misfortunes great and sma'. 
But aye a heart aboon them a' ; 
He'll be a credit 'till us a', 
We '11 a' be proud o' Robin. 

' Jean Armour. ^ A district of Ayrshire. ^ Looked. 

* Palm. * Goodly. '' Fool. 



Jr 



J^ 

t 



270 


BONNIE PEGGY ALISON. 

Biit, sure as three times three mak' nine, 
I see, by ilka score and line, 
This chap will dearly like our kiu',— 
So leeze me on thee,' Robin ! 

Guid faith, quo' she, I doubt ye gar. 
The bonnie lasses he aspar ; 
But twenty tauts ye may ha'e waur,— 
So blessiu's on thee, Robin ! 

Eobin was a rovin' boy, 

Rantin' rovin', ra.ntin' rovin*; 

Eobm was a i-ovin' boy, 
Kantin' rovin' Robin ! 

BONNIE PEaUY. ALISON. 

Tune— "Braes o' Balquliidder." 
CHOKUS. 

I'll kiss thee yet, yet. 

An' I'll kiss thee o'er agaiii.| 

An' I'll kiss thee yet, yet, 
My bonnie Peggy Alison ! 

nk care and fear, when thou art nea?. 

1 ever mair defy them, ; 
Yoaiig kings upon their hansel throne 

Are nae sae blest as I am, ; 

When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, 
I clasp my countless treasure, 0, 

I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share, 
Than sic a moment's pleasure, I 

And by thy een, sae bonnie blue, 
I swear I'm thine for ever, ! 

And on thy hps I seal my vow, 
And l;reak it shall I never, ! 

I'U kiss thee yet, yet. 

An' I'll kiss thee o'er again; 

An' I'll kiss thee yet, yet, 
My bonnie Peggy Alison ! 

* Blessings on thee. 


I 

1 

i 

1 
1 


Si— 




ir^ 



r 



271 

MATJCHLINE BELLES. 
Tune — "Mauchline Belles." 

LEAVE novels, ye Mauchliue belles ! 

¥e're safer at your spinnnig-wheel; 
Such witching books are baited hooka 

For rakish rooks — like Eob Mossgiel. 

Tour fine Tom Jones and Grandiso:is, 
They make your youthful fancies reel ; 

They heat your veins, and fire your braiiiSj 
And then ye're prey for Rob Mossgiel. 

Beware a tongue that's smoothly hung, 
A heart that warmly seems to feel ; 

That feeling heart but acts a part — 
'Tis rakish art in Eob Mossgiel. 

The fra.nk address, the soft caress, 

Are worse than poisoned darts of steel ; 

The frank address, and politesse, 
Are all finesse in Eob MossgieL 



THE BELLES OF MAUCHLINE. 
Tune — "Bonnie Dundee." 

In Mauchline there dwells six proper young belles, 
The pride o' the place and its neighbourhood a' ; 

Their carriage and dress, a stranger would guess. 
In Lon'on or Paris they'd gotten it a'. 

Miss Miller is fine, Miss Markland's divine, 

Miss Smith she has wit, and Miss Betty is braw; 

There's beauty and fortune to get wi' Miss Mortoia, 
But Armour's ' the jewel for me o' them a'. 

' Jean, afterwards Ms wife- 



272 

HimTma song. 

Tune — " I rede you beware at the huniang." 

The heather was blooming, the meadows v/oie mawn, 
Our lads gaed a-hiinting ae day at the da^v;^, 
O'er moors and o'er mosses, and mony a gle;., 
At length they discovered a bonnie moor-hen. 

I rede you beware at the hunting, young men ; 

I rede you beware at the hunting, young men ; 

Tak' some on the wing, and some as they spring. 

But cannily steal on a bonnie moor-hen. 

Sweet brushing the dew from the brown heather-bells, 
Her colours betrayed her on yon mossy fells ; 
Her plumage outlustred the pride o' the spring, 
And oh ! as she wantoned gay on the wing, 

Auld Phoebus himsel' as he peeped o'er the hill. 

In spite, at her plumage he tried his skill ; 

He levelled his rays where she basked on the brae — 

His rays were outshone, and but marked where she lay 

They hunted the valley, they hunted the hill. 
The best of our lads, wi' the best o' their skill ; 
But still as the fairest she sat in their sight — 
Then, whirr! she was over, a mile at a flight. 

I rede you beware at the hunting, young men ; 

I rede you beware at the hunting, young men ; 

Tak' some on the wing, and some as they spring, 

But cannUy steal on a bonnie moor-hen. 



YOUNG PEGGY. 
Tune — " Last time I cam' o'er the muir.** 

Young Peggy blooms our bonniest la.s8; 

Her blush is like tue morning, 
The rosy dawn, the springing grass 

W ith peai'ly gems adorning : 
Her eyes outshine the radiant beams 

That gild the passing shower. 
And glitter o'er the crystal streams. 

And cheer each fresh'ning flower. 



THE CURE FOR ALL CARE. 275 

Her lips more than the ciierries bright, 

A richer dye has graced them ; 
They charm th' admiring gazer's sight, 

And sweetly tempt to taste them ; 
Her smile is like the evening mild, 

Yfhen feathered tribes are courting, 
And little lambkins, wanton v,-ild, 

In playful bands disporting. 

Were Fortune lovely Peggy's foe, 

Such sweetness would relent her; 
As blooming Spi-irig unijends the brow 

Of surly, savage Winter. 
Detraction's eye no aim can gain. 

Her winning powers to lessen ; 
And spiteful Envy grins in vain, 

'Tlie poisoned tooth to fasten. 

Ye Powers of Honour, Love, and Tru r,h. 

From every ill defend her ! 
Inspire the highly favoured youth 

The Destinies intend her ; 
Still fan the sweet connubial flame^ 

Responsive in each bosom; 
And bless the dear parental name 

With many a fiHal blossom. 



THE CURE FOR ALL CARE. 

Tune — "Prepare, my dear brethren, to the tnvcMn let's fij.' 

No churchman am I for to rail and to write, 
No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fight, 
No sly man of business contriving a snare — 
For a big-bellied battle's the whole of my care. 

The peer I don't envy, I give him his bow, 
I scorn not the peasant, though ever so low ; 
But a club of good fellows, like those that are here 
And a bottle hke this, are my glory and care. 

Here passes the squire on his brotlior — his horse ; 
There Centum-per-centum, the cit with his purse; 
B)it see you the Crown, how it waves in the aii? 
There a big-bellied bottle still eases my care. 



274 ELIZA. 

The wife of my bosom, iilas ! she did die ; 
For sweet oonso'ation to church I did (ly; 
I found that old Solomon proved it Fair, 
That a big-belhed bottle 's a cure for all :are. 

I once was persuaded a venture to make, 
A letter informed me Lhat all was to wreck ; 
But the pursy old landlord just waddled up stairs. 
With a glorious bottle that ended my cares. 

•* Life's cares they are comforts " • — a maxim laid down 
By the bard — what d'ye call him ? — that wore the blact 

gown ; 
And faith, I agree with th' old prig to a hair ; 
For a big-bellied bottle 's a heav'n of a care. 



STA.NZA A.DBEI) IN A. MASONIC LODGE. 

Then fill up a bumper, and make it o'erilow, 
And honours masonic pi'epare for to throw ; 
May every true brother of the compass and square 
Have a big-bellied bottle when harassed with care I 



ELIZA.* 

[Written when about to emigrate bo the West Indies.] 

Tune — " Gikleroy." 

f ROM thee, EUza, I must go. 

And from my native shore ; 
The cruel Fates between us throw 

A boundless ocean's roar : 
But boundless oceans, roaring w.de. 

Between my love and me, 
They never, never can divide 

My heart and soul from thee ! 

Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, 

The maid that I adore ! 
A boding voice is in nune ear, 

We part to meet no more ! 
The latest throb th;it leaves my heart, 

While Death stands victor by, 
That throb, Eliza, is thy part. 

And thine that latest sigh ! 

Young's " JSkht Thoughts." * Elizabelb Barboo , 



276 



THE SONS OF OLD KILLIE. 

[Sung by Burns in the Kilmarnock Kilwinning Lodge, 1786. The 
Poet possessed a fine bass voice.] 

Tune— "Shawnloy." 

Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie, 

To follow the noble vocation, 
Your thrifty old mother has scarce such another 

To sit in that honoured station. 
I 've httle to say, but only to pray, 

As praying 's the ton of your fashion : 
A prayer from the Muse you well may excuse, — 

'Tis seldom her favourite passion. 

Ye Powers who preside o'er the wind and the tide. 

Who marked each element's border ; 
Who formed this frame with beneficent aim. 

Whose sovereign statute is order ! 
Within this dear mansion may wayward contentiou 

Or withered envy ne'er enter ; 
May secrecy round be the mystical bound. 

And brotherly love be the centre ! 

[The original, in the Poet's handwriting, belongs to Gabriel Neil, 
Glasirow, and has the following note attached to it : — " This song, wrote 
by Mr. Burns, was sung by him in the Kilmarnock Kilwinning Lodge, 
m 1786, and given by hini to Mr, Parker, who was Master cf the Lodge.] 



ZATHBEINB JAFFRAT. 

Theke lived a lass in yonder dale. 
And down in yonder glen, ! 

And Katherine Jafrray was her name, 
Weel known to many men, ' 

Out came the Lord of Lauderdale, 
Out frae the South countrie, O ! 

All for to court this pretty maid, 
Her bridegroom for to be, ! 

He 's telled her father and mother baitJi, 

As I hear sundry s^ay, ! 
But he has na telled the lass hersel' 

'Till on her wedding day, ! 



J 1 



Jf 



278 ON^ CES.WOCK BA^KS 

Then came the Laird o' LochingtoUj 
Out trae the English border, 

All for to court this pretty maid. 
All mounted in ffood order. 



ON CBSSNOOK BANKS. 
Tune—" If he be a butcher neat and trim.** 

On Oessnock banks there lives a tasr.,' — 

CoTild I describe her shape and mien; 
The graces of her weel-fared face, 

And the glancin' of her sparkliu' een ! 

She 's fresher than the morning dawn, 

When rising Phoebiis first is seen, 
When dewdrops twiulcle o'er the lawn; 

An' she 's twa glancin', sparkliu' een 

She 's stately, like yon youthful ash, 

That grows the cowslip braes between, 
And shoots its head above each bush ; 

An' she 's twa glancin', sparkhn' een. 

She 's spotless as the flowering thorn, 

With flowers so white and leaves so g-reeii: 

When purest in the dewy morn ; 

An' she 's twa glancin', sparkhn' een. 

Her looks are like the sportive lamb, 

When flowery May adorns the scene, 
That wantons round its bleatina- dam; 

An' she 's twa glancin', sparklin' een. 

Her hair is like the cui-ling mist 

That shades the mountain-side at e'eUj 
When flower-reviving i-nins are past; 

An' she 's twa glancin', sparklin' een. 

Her foi-ehead 's like the showery bow. 

When shining sunbeams intervene. 
And gild the di;itaut mountain's brow; 

An' she 's twu glancin', anarklin' een. 

Her voice is like the evening thrush. 

Tliat sings on Cessnock b;inks unseen. 
While his ma.te sits nestling in the bush; 

An' she's twa glancin', sparkliu' con. || 

Sui'poseJ to be tiie Poet's first love, fJUison i;c'.v:bi3. | 



ON CESSyOCK BANKS. 

Her lips are like tlie cherries ripe 

That sunny walls from Boreas screen; 

They tempt the taste and charm the sight : 
An' she 's twa glancin', sparklm' een. 

Her teeth are Hke a flock of sheep, 
With fxeeces newly washen clean, 

That slowly mount the rising steep ; 
An' she 's twa glancin', sparklin' een. 

Her breath is like the fragrant breeze 
That gently stirs the blossomed bean, 

When Phoebus sinks behind the seas ; 
An' she 's twa glancm', sparklm' een. 

But it 's not her air, her form, her face. 
Though matching Beauty's fabled qv.eeii= 

But the mind that shines in every grace— 
An' chiefly in her spark Hn' een. 



277 



ON CESSNOOK BANKS. 

[improved VEKSION.J 

Tune—*' If he be a butcher neat and trim.'' 

On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells ; _ 
Could I describe her shape and mien • 

Our lasses a' she far excels,— 

An' she 's twa sparklhig, roguish een. 

She 's sweeter than the morning dawn. 
When rising Phoebus first is seen, 

And dewdrops twinkle o'er the lawn ; 
An" she 's twa sparkUng, roguish een. 

She 's stately, like yon youthful ash, 
That grows the cowshp braes between, 

And drinks the stream with vigour tresh; 
An' she 's twa sparkhng, roguish een. 

She 's spotless, like the flowering thorn, 
V/ith flowers so white and leaves so green. 

When purest in the dewy morn ; 

A< she 's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Jer looks are like the vernal May, 

^YkGn evening Phoebus shines serene, 
IVhile birds rejoice on every spray ; 
An' she 's twa sparkling, roguish een. 



278 MART. 

Her hair is like the curling mist 

That climbs the mountain-sides at e'en^ 

"When flower-reviving rains are past ; 
An' she's twa sparkling, roguish etn. 

Her forehead 's like the showery bow, 
When gleaming sunbeams intervene, 

And gild the distant mountain's brow ; 
An' she 's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her cheeks are like yon crimson gem, 
The pride of all the flowery scene, 

Just opening on its thorny stem ; 

An' she 's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her teeth are like the nightly snow, 
When pale the morning rises keen, 

While hid the murm'ring streamlets flow ; 
An' she 's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her lips are like yon cherries ripe, 
• That sunny walls from Boreas screen , 
They tempt the taste and charm the sigiit; 
An' she 's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her breath is Hke the fragrant breeze. 
That gently stirs the blossomed bean, 

Wlien Phoebus sinks behind the seas ; 
An' she 's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her voice is like the evening thrush, 
That sings on Cessnock banks unseen, 

While his mate sits nestling in the bush ; 
An' she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

But it 's not her air, her form, her face. 
Though matching Beauty's fabled queea 

*Tis the mind that shines in every grace. 
An' chiefly in her roguish een. 



Tune— " Blue bonnets." 

Powers celestial ! whose protection 
Ever guards the virtuous fair, 

While in distant climes I wander, 
Let my Mary be your care ; 



Highland Mary. Her name was Mary Campbell, 




r 



TO MARY, 27.a 

Let her form, sae i'air and fa-nlik-ss. 

Fair and faultless as your own, 
Let my Mary's kindi-ed spuit 

Draw your choicest influence down. 

Make the gales you waft around her 

Soft and peaceful as her breast : 
Breathing in the breeze that fans her. 

Soothe her bosom into rest : 
Guardian angels ! O protect her, 

When in distant lands I roam; 
To realms unknown while fate exiles me. 

Make her bosom still my home ! 



TO MART. 

Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 
And leave auld Scotia's shore ? 

Will ye go 1o lie Indits-, 113 Msny, 
Across th' Atlantic's roar ? 

sweet grow the lime and the orange, 
And the apple on the pine ; 

But a' the charms 0' the Indies 
Can never equal thine. 

1 ha'e sworn by the Heavens to my Mary, 
I ha'e sworn* by the Heavens to be true ; 

And sae may the Heavens forget me, 
Vf hen I forget my vow ! 

O plight me your faith, my Mary, 

And plight me your lily-white hand; 
O plight me your faith, my Mary, 
Before I leave Scotia's strand. 

We ha'e plighted our troth, my Maiy, 

In mutual affection to join ; 
And curst be the cause that shall part us !- 

The hour and the moment o' time ! 

' Mary Campbell, or Highland Mary. 



il^ 



280 

HIGHLAND MAEY.> 
Tune — " Katharine Ogie." 

Ye banks and braes and streams aron nd 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be yoiar woods, and fair your flowers, 

Your waters never drumlie ! 
There Simmer first unfald her robes. 

And there the langest tarry; 
For there I took the last t'areweel 

0' my sweet Highland Mary. 

How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk. 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom ! 
As, underneath their fragrant shade, 

I clasped her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours, on angel wings. 

Flew o'er me and my dearie : 
For dear to me as light and life 

Was my sweet Highland Mary, 

Wi' mony a vow and locked embrace 

Our parting was fu' tender; 
And, pledging aft to meet again. 

We tore oursel's asunder ; 
But ! fell Death's untimely frost. 

That nijjt my flower sae early ! 
Now green's the sod and cauld's the claj 

That wraps my Highland Mary ! 

O pale, pale now those rosy lips, 

I aft hae kissed so fondly ! 
And closed for aye the sparkling glance, 

That dwelt on me sae kindly ; 
Anl moiildeving now in silent dust 

That heart that lo'ed me dearly ! 
But still within my bosom's core 

Shall live my Highland Mary. 

* Mary Campbell : she died of malignant fever at Greenock, 1786. 



a 



281 



THE LASS OF BALLOOHMYLE.* 
Tune— "Miss Forbes's Farewell to Banff." 

'TwAS even— the dewy fields were green 5 

On every blade tlie pearls h&ng ; 
The zephyrs v/anioned round the bean, 

And bore its fragrant sweets alang ; 
In every glen the mavis sang, 

All Nature listening seemed the while. 
Except where greenwood echoes rang, 

Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle. 

With careless step I onward strayed. 

My heart rejoiced in Nature's joy, 
When musing in a lonely glade, 

A maiden fair I chanced to spy : 
Her look was like the morning's eye, 

Her air like Nature's vernal smile. 
Perfection whispered, passing by. 

Behold the lass o' Balluchmyle 1 

Fair is the morn in tlowery May, 

And sweet is night in autumn mild ; 
When roving through the garden gay, 

Or wandering in the lonely wild : 
But Yfoman, Nature's darling child ! 

There all her charms she does compile; 
Ev'n there her other works are foiled 
By the bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle. 
O ! had she been a country maid, 

And I the happjr country swam, 
Though sheltered in the lowest shed 
That ever rose on Scotland's plain; 
Through weary winter's wind and rain, 
With joy, with rapture I would toil; 
And nightly to my bosom strain 

The bonnie lass o' Ballochmyle ! 
Then pride might climb the sli})})pry wtcep. 

Where fame and honours lofty shine ; 
And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, 

Or downward seek tV.e Indian mme ; 
Give me the cot below the pine, 

To tend the floclts, or till the soil, 
And every day have ioys divine 
"' W ilh the bonnie lass o' Baliochmyle. 

' Miss Wilh. Imina Alexander, daughter of the proprietor of Balloch- 



Bii'ie. 



] 



282 



BONNIE DUNDEE. 

[Tlie second verse only of this song was written by Bums.] 
Tune — "Bonnie Dundee." 

O, WHARE did ye get that haviver meal baunock ? 

0, silly blind body, diuna ye see ? 
I gat it iVae a brisk young sodger laddie, 

Butween Saint Johnston and bonnie Dundee. 
gin I saw the laddie that ga'e me 't ! 

Aft has he doudled me tip on his knee; 
May Heaven protect my bonnie Scots laddie, 

And send him safe hame to his babie and me I 

M}^ blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie. 

My blessin's upon thy bonnie e'e bree ! 
Thy smiles are sae like my blythe sodger laddie, 

Tlsou's aye be detirer and dearer to me ! 
But I'll big a bower on yon bonny banks, 

Where Tay rins wimplin' by sae clear; 
And I'll deed thee in the tartan sae fine. 

And mak' thee a man like thy daddie dear. 



THE JOYFUL WIDOWER. 
Tune — "Maggie Lauder." 

I MARRIED with a scolding wife 
The fourteenth of November; 

She made me weary of my life, 
By one unruly member. 

Long did I bear the heavy yoke, 

And many griefs attended ; 
But, to my Cduifort be it spoke, 

Now, now her Ufe is ended. 

We lived full one-and-twenty years 

A man and wife together; 
At length from me her course she 8t<}(jrec 

And gone I know not whither. 

Woula I could guess. I do profess— 
I Sfieak. and do not liatter — 

Of all the women in the world, 
I never could come at her. 




^m^- g^A^^^''^^ I 



Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street. 

The bells are rung backward, the drums they are beat. 

Bonny Dundee,—'^. 6i6. 



THERE WAS A WIFE. 2£3 

Her body is bestowed well, 

A handsome grave does hide her; 

But sure her soul is not in hell — 
The de'il could ne'er abide her. 

I rather think she is aloft, 

And imitating th^^nder ; 
For why — methinks I hear her voice 

Tearing the clouds asunder. 

THEEE WAS A WIFE. 

There was a wife wonned in Cockpen; 

Scrogii am ; 
She brewed guid ale for gentlemen; 
Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me. 
Scroggam, my dearie, rufFum. 

The gudewife's dochter fell in a fever, 

Scroggam ; 
The priest o' the parish fell in anither; 
Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me, 
Scroggam, my dearie, rufium. 

They laid the twa i' the bed thegither, 

Scroggam ; 
That the heat o' the tane might cool the tither; 
Sing auld Cowl, lay you down by me, 
Scroggam, my dearie, rufFum. 

[This soug is inserted in the Musical Museum, where it is stilted ti 
have been written by Bums ; consequently it is here inserted among Lis 

other songs.] 

COME DOWN THE BAClC STAIRS. 

Tune — "Whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad." 
CIIOKUS. 

O, wuisTLE, and I'll come 

To you, my lad ; 
O, whistle, and I'll come 

To you, my lad ; 
Though father and mither 

ohonld baith gae mad, 
O, whistle, and I'll come 

To you, my lad. 



jT 



284 THERE 'S NEWS, LASSES, NEWS. 

Come down the back stairs 

When ye come to court me; 
Come down the back stairs 

When ye come to court me; 
Come down the back stairs, 

And let iiaebody see, 
And come as ye were na 

Coming to me. 



THERE'S NEWS, LASSES, _NEWS. 

There 's news, lasses, news, 

Gude news I have to tell, 
There's a boat fu' o' lads 

Come to our town to sell. 

CHORUS. 

The wean ' wants a cradle. 

An' the cradle wants a ccI,* 
An' I'll no gang to my bed 
Until I get a nod. 

Father, quo' she, Mither, quo' she. 

Do what you can, 
I'll no gang to my bed 

Till I get a man. 

The wean, &o, 

I ha'e as gude a craft rig 
As made o' yird and stane; 

And waly fa' the ley- crap, 
For I maun tilled again. 

The wean, &o. 



I'M O'ER YOUNG TO MARRY YET. 

Tune — " I'm o'er young to marry yet." 

I AM my mammy's ae bairn, 

Wi' unco folk I weary, sir; 
And lying in a inan's bed, 

I'm lieyed wad mak' me eerie, sir. 
I'm o'er young to marry yet; 

I'm o'er young to marry yet; 
I'm o'er yoimg — 'twad be a sin 
To tak' me frae my mammy yet. 

« Babe. * fillow. 



-Jfl 



DAMON AND SYLVIA. 285 

My iTiammy coft ' me a new gown, 
Tri8 kirk mann ha'e the gracing o't; 

Were I to lie wi' you, kind sir, 

I'm feai-ed ye 'd spoil the lacing o't. 

Hallowmas is come and gane, 

The nights are lang in winter, sir; 
An' you an' I in ae bed 

In trouth I dare na venture, sir. 

Fu' loud and shrill the frosty wind 

Blaws through the leafless timmer, sir; 
But if ye come this gate again, 
I'll aulder be gin simmer, sir. 

I'm o'er young to marry yet ; 

I'm o'er young to marry yet; 
I'm o'er young — 'twad be a sin 
To tak' me frae my mammy yet« 



DAMON AND SYLVIA. 
Tune — " The tither mom, as I forlorn." 

Yo'S wandering rill Ihat marks the hill. 

And glances o'er the brae, sir, 
Slides by a bower where nio;;}'- a flower, 

Sheds fragrance on the day, sir. 

There Damon lay with Sylvia gay, 
To love they thought nae crime, sir 5 

The wild-birds sang, the echoes rang. 
While Damon's heart beat time, sir. 



THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDT.'' 

Tune— "The Birks of Aberfeldy." 
CHORUS. 

BoiOfiE lassie, will ye go, 
Will ye go, v/iil ye go ; 
Bonnie lassie, will ye go 
To the birks of Aberfeldy ?» 

> Bnuglit. 

' Burns says he wrote this song while standing under the Falls oi 
Aherfeiily, near Moness, in Perthshire, in September, 1787. 
' Aberfeldy is in Aberdeenshire. 



]C 



286 MACPHERSON'S FAREWELL. 

!Now simmer blinks on flowery braes, 
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays; 
Come, let us spend the lightsome days 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 

While o'er their heads the hazels hing, 
The little birdies blithely sing, 
Or lightly flit on wanton wing 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 

The braes ascend, like lofty wa's, 
The foaming stream deep-roaring fa's, 
O'erhung wi' fragrant spreading shaws. 
The birks of Aberfeldy. 

The hoary cliffs are crowned wi' flowers. 
White o'er the linns the bnrnie pours, 
And rising, weets wi' misty showers 
The birks of Aberfeldy. 

Let Fortune's gifts at random flee. 
They ne'er shall draw a wish frae m<^ 
Supremely blest wi' love and thee, 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, will ye go, 
Will ye go, will ye go ; 
Bonnie lassie, will ye go 
To the bu-ks of Aberfeldy P 



MACPHERSON'S' FAEEWELL. 
Tune — " M'Pherson's Rant." 

Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong, 

The wretch's destinie ! 
Macpherson's time will not be long 
On yonder gallows-tree. 

* Macpherson was chief of a branch of the clan Chattan, and a famona 
freebooter. "Macpherson's Lament," says Sir Walter Scott, "was a 
well-known song many years before the Ayrshire Bard wrote these addi- 
tional verses, which constitute its principal merit. This noted freebooter 
was executed at Inverness about the beginning of the last century^. When 
he came to the fatal tree, he played the tune to which he has bequeathed 
his name upon a favourite violin ; and, holding up the instrument, he 
offered it to any one of his clan who would undei'take to plav the tune 
over his body at the lyke-wake. As none answered, he dashed it to 
pieces on the executioner's head, and flung himself from the Ladder." 



IT 



THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT 287 

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, 

Sae dauntiiigly gaed he ; 
He played a spring, and danced it round. 
Below the gallows-tree. 

Oh ! what is death but parting breath ? 

On nioiiy a bloody plain 
I've dared his face, and in this place 

I scorn him yet again ! 

Untie these bands from oif my hands, 

And bring to me my sword ! 
And there's no a man in all Scotland 

But I'll brave him at a word. 

I've lived a life of sturt and strife ; 

I die by treacherie : 
It burns my heart I must depart. 

And not avenged be. 

Now farewell Ught— thou sunshine bright 

And all beneath the sky ! 
May coward shame disdain his name, 
The wretch that dares not die ! 
Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, 

Sae dauntingly gaed he ; 
He played a spring and danced it round. 
Below the gallows-tree. 



THE CHBVALIEE'S LAMENT. 

The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, 
The murmuring streamlet winds clear through the vale ; 

The hawthorn trees blow in the dews of the morning 
And wild scattered cowslips bedeck the green dale : 

But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, 
While the lingering moments are numbered by care.P 
No flowers gaily springing, nor birds sweetly singing, 
Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair. 

The deed that I dared could it merit their malice, 
A king and a father to place on his throne ? 

His right are these hills and his right are these valleys. 
Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find none 

But 'tis not my sufferings thus wretched, forlorn. 
My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn- 
Your deeds proved so loyal in hot bloody trial, — 
Alas ! can I make you no sweeter return ! 



288 

BRAW LADS OF GALL A WATER. 

Tune— "Galla Water," 

CHORUS. 

Bea"W, braw lads of Galla Water ; 

braw lads of Galla Water ! 
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee, 

And follow my love through the water. 

Sae fair hei hair, sae brent her brow, 
Sae bonny blue hei een, my dearie; 

Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her mou*, 
The mail I kiss she 's aye my dearie. 

O'er yon bank and o'er yon brae, 
O'er yon moss amang the heather, 

I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee. 

And follow my love through the water. 

Down amang the broom, the broom, 
Down amang the broom, my dearie, 

The lassie lost a silken snood. 

That cost her mony a blirt and bleary. 

Braw, braw lads of Galla Water ; 

O braw lads of Galla Water ! 
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee, 

And follow my love through the water. 



STAY, MY CHARMER. 

Tune— "An Gille dubh ciar dliubh." 

Stay, my charmer, can you leave me ? 

Cruel, cruel to deceive me ! 

Well you know how much you grieve me I 

Cruel charmer, can you go? 

Cruel charmer, can you go ? 

By my love so ill requited ; 

By the faith you fondly plighted ; 

By the pangs of lovers slighted ; 

Do not, do not leave me so ! 

Do not, do not leave me so ! 



389 



STRATHALLAN'S ' LAMENT. 

Thickest night, o'erliang my dwelling 1 
Howling tempests, o'er me rave ! 

Turbid torrents, vvdntry swelling, 
Still surround my lonely cave ! 

Crystal streamlets gently llowing, 
Busy haunts of base mankind, 

Western breezes softly blowing. 
Suit not my distracted mind. 

In the cause of right engaged, 
Wrongs injurious to redress, 

Honour's war we strongly waged. 
But the heavens denied success. 

Farewell, fleeting, fickle treasure, 

'Tween Misfortune and Folly shared I 

Farewell, Peace, and farewell. Pleasure I 
Farewell, flattering man's regard ! 

Riiin's wheel has driven o'er me ; 

Nor dare my fate a hope attend; 
The wide world is all before me — 

But a world without a friend I 



MY HOGGIE.' 
Tune — "What will I do gin my hoggie die ?" 

What will I do gin my hoggie die ? 

My joy, my pride, my hoggie ! 
My only beast, I had nae mae. 

And vow but I was vogie! * 

The lee-lang night we watched the fanld. 

Me and my faithfu' doggie ; 
We heard nought but the i-oaring linn 

Amang the braes sae scroggie ; "* 

But the houlet* cried frae the castle wa', 

The blitter * frae the boggie, 
The tod ' replied upon the hiU : 

I trembled for my hoggie. 

' James Dramraond, Viscouut Strathnllan, who is believed to hav« 
escaped from the field of Culloden, and to have died in exile. 

^ A two-y?ar-old sheep. ^ Vain of it- * Full of stunted undergi-owth 
» Owl. " Mire-snipe. ' Fox. 

V 



ir 



290 HER DADDY FORBADE 

Wlien day did daw', and cocks did craw. 
The morning it was foggy ; 

An unco tyke ' lap o'er the dyke, 
And maist has killed my hoggie. 



HEE DADDY FORBADE. 

Tune — " Jumpin' John." 

Her daddie foi-bade, her minnie forbade ; 

Forbidden she wadna be ; 
She wadna ti'ow't the browst she brewed ^ 
Wad taste sae bitterlie. 

The lang- lad they ca' .Jumpin' John 

Beguiled the bounie lassie, 
The lang lad they ca' Jumj^in' John 
Beguiled the bonnie lassie. 

A cow and a cauf, a yowe and a hauf, 
And thretty guid shillin's and three ; 

A vera gude tocher,^ a cotter-man's dochter,* 
The lass with the bonnie black e'e. 



UP IN THE MORNING EARLY. 

CHORUS. 

Up in the morning's no for me, 

Up in the morning early ; 
When a' the hills are covered wi' snaw, 

I 'm sure it 's winter fairly. 

Cauld blaws the wind frae east to west, 

The drift is driving sairly ; 
Sae loud and shrill I hear the blast, 

I 'm sure it 's winter fairly. 

The birds pit chittering in the thorn, 

A' day they fare but sparely ; 
And lang's the night frae e'en to morn 
I 'm sure it 's winter fairly. 

Up in the morning's no for me, 

Up in the morning early ; 
When a' the hills are covered wi' snaw, 
'm sure it 's winter fairly. 

' Dog. * She -vrould not believe the drink she brewed 

' Dowry. ■• Daughter 



\^ 



S91 

THE .YOUNG HIGHLAND EOVES.* 

Tune— "Morag." 

Loud blaw tlie frosty breezea, 

The snaw the mountains cover; 
Like winter on me seizes, 

Since my young Highland Eover 

Far wanders nations over. 
Where'er he go, where'er he stray, 

May Heaven be his warden ; 
Return him safe to fair Strathspey 

And bonnie Castle- Gordon ! 

The trees now nated groaning, 
Shall soon wi' leaves be hiugii-ig, 

The bii-dies dowie moaning, 
Shall a' be blithely singing. 
And every flower be springing. 

Sae I '11 rejoice the lee-lang day, 
When by his mighty warden 

My youth's returned to fair Sti-athspey 
And bonnie Castle- Gordon. 



HEY, THE DUSTY MILLEU. 

Tune— "The Dusty Miller." 

Hi'.y, the dusty miller, 

And his dusty coat; 

He will wm a shilling. 

Or he spend a groat. 

Dusty was the coat, 

Dusty was the colour. 
Dusty was the Idss 
I got frae the miller. 

Hey, the dusty miller, 
And his dusty sack ; 
Leeze me on the calhng 
Fills the dusty peck. 

Fills the dusty peck,_ 

Brings the dusty siller; 
I wad gi'e my coatie 
For the dusty miller. 

» Prince Charles Edward. 



r 



29S 



BONNIE PEG. 

As I came in by our gate end, 

As day was waxiu' weary, 
wlisi came tripping down tlie street. 

But bonnie Peg, my dearie ! 

Her air sae sweet, and sbape complete, 
Wi' nae proportion wanting, 

The Queen of Love did never move 
Wi' motion mair enchanting. 

Wi' linked hands, we took the sanda 

Adown yon winding river ; 
And, oh ! that hour and broomy bowefa 

Otui I forget it ever ? 



THERE WAS A LASS. 
Tune — " Duncan Davison." 

TfiEBE was a lass, they ca'd her Meg, 

And she held o'er the moors to spin ; 
T]; 're was a lad that followed her, 

'L'hey ca'd him DuTican Davison. 
The moor was dreigh,i and Meg was pkeigh. 

Her favour Duncan could na win ; 
For svi' the rock she wad him knock, 

A ad aye she shook the temper-pin. 

As o'er the moor they lightly foor,* 
A burn was clear, a glen was green. 

Upon the banks they eased their shanks. 
And aye she set the wheel between: 

But Duncan swore a hal}'' aith. 

That ]\teg should be a bride the morn ; 

Then Meg took up her si)innrn' graith,* 
And flang them a' out o'er the burn. 

We '11 big a house — a wee, wee house, 
And we will live like king and queen; 

Sae blythe and merry we will be 
When ye set by the wheel at e'en 

' Teillous. ■•'Proud. 

* Weat. * Gear. 



aw 



8BELAH O'NEIL, 293 

A man may drink and no be drunt \ 

A man may fight and no be slain ; 
A man may kiss a bonuie lass, 

And aye be welcome back again. 



SHELAH O'NEIL. 

When first I began for to sigh and to woo bet, 

Of many fine things I did say a great deal, 
But, above all the rest, that which pleased her the best^ 

Was, oh ! will you marry me, Shelah O'Neil ? 
My point I soon carried, fi^r straight we were married, 

Then the weight of my burden I soon 'gan to feel, — 
For she scolded, she fisted — then I enlisted, 

Left Ireland, and whiskey, and Shelah O'Neil. 

Then tired and dull-hearted, O then I deserted, 

And fied into regions far distant from home. 
To Frederick's army, where none e'er could harm mo^ 

Save Shelah herself in the shape of a bomb. 
I fought every battle, where cannons did rattle. 

Felt sliarp shot, alas ! and the sharp-pointed steel ; 
But, in all my wars round, thank my stars, 1 ne'er found 

Ought BO sharp as the tongue of cursed Shelah O'Neil, 



THENIEL MENZIE'S BONNIE MAEY. 

Tune— "The Euffian's Rant." 

In coming by the brig o' Dye, 

At Darlet we a blink did taiTy; 
As day was dawin' in the sky. 

We drank a health to bounie Mary. 
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 

Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary; 
Charlie Gregor tint ' his plaidie, 
Kissin' Theniel's bonnie Maiy. 

Her een sae bright, her brow sae white, 
Her haffet ^ locks as In-own 's a berry ; 

And aye they dim^sl't m i' a smile. 
The rosy cheeks o' bonnie Mary. 

• Lost. 2 Tenutle 



3L 



294 THE BANKS OF THE DEVON. 

We lap ' and danced the lee-lang day, 
Till piper lads were wae an' weary ; 
But Cliarlie gat the spring ^ to pay, 
For Hssin' Theniel's bonnie Mary. 
Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary, 

Theniel Menzie's bonnie Mary ; 
Charhe Gregor tint his plaidie, 
Kissin' Theniel's bonnie Mary. 



THE BANKS OF THE DEVON." 
Tune — " Bhannerach dhon na chri." 

How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon, 

With green-spreading bushes and flowers blooming fair ! 
But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon 

Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr. 
Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower, 

In the gay rosy morn, as it bathes in the dew ! 
And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower. 

That steals on the evening each leaf to renew. 

O sjsare the dear blossoms, ye orient breezes. 

With chill hoary wing, as ye usher the dawn! 
And i'ar be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes 

The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn ! 
Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies, 

And England, triumphant, display her proud rose : 
A fairer than either adorns the green valleys 

Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows. 



THEEE 'LL NEVER BE PEACE TILL JAMIE COMES 
HAME. 

[You must know a beautiful Jacobite air, " There'll never be peace till 
Jamie comes hame. " When political combustion ceases to be the object 
of princes and patiiots, it then, you know, becomes the lawful prey of 
historians and poets. — Burns.] 

Tune — " There are few gnid fellows when Willie's awa'." 

By yon castle wa', at the close of the day, 
I heard a man sing, though his head it was grey; 
And as he was singing, the tears fast down came — 
There '11 never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 

• Jumped. ^ Music. 

' This song was composed on Charlotte Hamilton, a beautiful girl, the 
•lister of the Poet's friend, Gavin Hamilton. 



c 



YE HA'E LIEN \YRANO, LASSIE. 295 

The Cliurch is in ruins, the State is in jars, 
Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars : 
We dare na' weel say 't, but we ken wha's to blame — 
There '11 never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 

My seven "braw sons for Jamie drew sword, 
And now I greet ' round their green beds in the yird : 
It brak the sweet heart o' my faithfu' auld dame — 
There '11 never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 

Now life is a burden that bows me down. 
Sin' I tint ^ my bairns, and he tint his crown ; 
But till my last moment my words are the same- 
There '11 never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 



YE HA'E LIEN WEANG, LASSIE, 



Ye ha'e lien a' wrang, las 

Ye 've hen a' wra ng ; 
Ye 've hen in an unco * bed. 

And wi' a fremit* man. 

Your rosy cheeks are turned sae wan, 
Ye 're greener than the grass, lassie i 

Your coatie 's shorter by a span. 
Yet ne'er an inch the less, lassie. 

O, lassie, ye ha'e played the fool, 
And ye will feel the scorn, lassie, 

For aye the brose ye sup at e'en 

Ye bock ® them e'er the mom, lassie. 

0, ance ye danced upon the knowes,' 

And through the wood ye sang, lassie. 
But in the berrying o' a bee byke,^ 
I fear ye 've got a stang, lassie. 
Ye ha'e lien a' wrang, lassie, 

Ye 've lien a' wrang ; 

Ye 've hen in an unco bed. 

And wi' a fremit man. 

' Weep. * Earth. * Lost. 

* Strange. * Stranger. ^ Vomit- 

' Hills. • Pliindering of a beehive. 



896 



RAVnTG WINDS AROmro HER BLOWINa* 

Tune — "Macgregor of Ruara's Lament." 

Raving winds around her blowing, 
Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing, 
By a river hoarsely roaring, 
Isabella strayed deploring : — 
" Farewell hours that late did measure 
Sunshine days of joy and pleasure ! 
Hail thou gloomy night of sorrow, 
Cheerless night that knows no morrow! 

•• O'er the past too fondly wandering. 
On the hopeless future pondering ; 
Chilly grief my life-blood freezes. 
Fell despair my fancy seizes. 
Life, thou soul of every blessing, 
Load to misery most distressing. 
Oh, how gladly I 'd resign thee, 
And to dark obUvion join thee 1 ** 



WOMEN'S MINDS. 
Tune— "For a' that." 

Though women's minds, like winter winds^ 

May shift and turn, and a' that. 
The noblest breast adores them maisti 

A consequence I draw that. 

CHORUS. 

^or a' that, and a' that, 

And twice as muckle's a' that, 

The bonnie lass that I lo'e best. 
She '11 be my ain for a* that. 

Great love I bear to all the fair, 

Their humble slave, an' a' that^ 
But lordly will, I hold it still, 

A mortal sin to thraw that. 

• "I composed these verses," says Burns, " on Miss Isabella M'Leod, 
of Rasay, alluding to her feelings on the death of her sister, Hnti the 
Btill more melaucbolj death of her sister's husband, the late Earl of 
Loudon." 



ij 



BOW LANG AND DREARY IS THE NIOHT. 297 

But there is ane a,boon the lave,' 
Has wit, and sense, and a' that ; 

A bonnie lass, I like her best, 
And wha a crime dare ca' thatP 



HOW TiKSG AND DEEARY IS THE NIGHT. 
To a Gaelic Air. 

How lang and dreary is the night 

When I am frae my dearie ; 
I sleepless lie frae e'en to morn, 

Though I were ne'er sae weary, 
I sleepless he frae e'en to morn 

Though I were ne'er sae weary. 

When I think on the happy days 

I spent wi' you, my dearie, 
And now what lands between us lie. 

How can I be but eerie ? 
And now what lands between us lie, 

How can I be but eerie ? 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, 

As ye were wae and weary! 
It was nae sae ye glinted by 

When I was wi' my dearie ; 
It was na sae ye glinted by 

When I was wi' my dearie. 



MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN." 
Tune — " Druimion dubh." 

Musing on the roaring ocean. 
Which divides my love and me ; 

Wearying Heaven, in warm devotion. 
For his weal where'er he be. 

Hope and fear's alternate billow 
Yielding late to Nature's law ; 

Whispering spirits round my pillow 
Talk of him that 's far awa'. 

• Rest, 

* Composed for Mrs. McLauchlan, whose husband was in the West Indies, 



- 1 ,^ 

203 BLITHE WAS SHE. 

Ye vvliom sorrow never wounded. 

Ye who never slied a tear, 
Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded. 

Gaudy day to you is dear. 

Gentle night, do thou befriend me I 

Downy sleep, the curtain draw I 
Spirits kind, again attend me, 

Talk of him that 's far awa' ! 



BLITHE WAS SHE.* 

Tune — " Andrew and his cutty gun.** 

CIIOKUS. 

Blithe, blithe, and merry was sha^ 
Blithe was she but and ben ; 

Blithe by the banks of Ern, 
And blithe in Glenturit glen. 

By Auchtertyre grows the aik ; 

On Yarrow banks the birken shaw ; 
But Phemie was a bonnier lass 

Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. 

Her looks were like a flower in May, 
Her smile was like a simmer mornj 

She tripped by the banks of Ern, 
As light 's a bird upon a thorn. 

Her bonnie face it was as meek 

As ony lamb upon a lea ; 
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet. 

As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e. 

• The Highland hills I Ve wandered wide. 
And o'er the Lowlands I ha'e been ; 
But Phemie was the blithest lass 
That ever trod the dewy green. 

Blithe, blithe, and merry was she, 

Blithe was she but and ben ; 
Blithe by the banks of Ern, 
And blithe in Glenturit glen. 

' **I composed these verses," says the Poet, in his notes in the 
"Museum," "while I stayed at Auchtertyre with Sir William Murray." 
The heroine of this song was Euphemia Murray, of Lintrose, called 
" The Flower of Strathmore." 



l- 



t 



1^. 



299 



SONG OF DEATH" 

[Scene, a field of battle ; time of the day, evening. Tlie wonnded and 
dying of the victorious army are supposed to join in the following song o' 
death.] 

Fareweil thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skie <j 

Now gay with the bread setting sun ; 
Farewell loves and friendships — ye dear, tender ties — 

Our race of existence is ruu ! 

Thou grim king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe, 

Go, frighten the coward and slave ; 
Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant ! but know, 

No terrors hast thou to the brave ! 

Thou strik'st the poor peasant — he sinks in the dark. 

Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name; 
Thou strik'st the young hero — a glorious mark ! 

He falls in the blaze of his fame ! 

In the field of proud honour, our swords in our handSp 

Our king and our country to save— 
While victory shines on hfe's last ebbing sands — 

0, who would not die with the brave ! 



THE POOR AND HONEST SODGES. 
Air— "The mill, miU, 0! " 

When wild War's deadly blast was blawn. 

And gentle Peace returning, 
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless, 

And mony a widow mourning ; 
I left the lines and tented field. 

Where lang I 'd been a lodger. 
My humble knapsack a' my wealth, 

A poor and honest sodger. 

' The circumstance that gave rise to the foregoing verses, was looking 
over, with a musical friend, M 'Donald's colltction of Highland airs. I 
was stiuck with one, an Isle of Skje tune, entitled "Oran an Aoiy ; or^ 
the Song of Death," to the measure of which I have adapted my Btama*. 
—Burns. 



ii4 



SOO THE POOR AND HONEST SODOEB. 

A leal light heart was in my breast. 

My hand unstained wi' plunder; 
And for fair Scotia, hame again 

I cheery on did wander. 
I thought upon the banks o' Coil, 

I thought upon my ITancy, 
I thought upon the witching smile 

That caught my youthful fancy. 

At length I reached the bonnie glen 

Where early life I sported ; 
I passed the mill, and trysting thorn, 

Whjre Nancy aft I courted; 
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid, 

Down by her mother's dwelling ! 
And turned me round to hide the flaocH 

That in my een was swelling. 

Wi' altered voice, quoth I, Sweet lass, 

Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, 
O ! happy, happy may he be. 

That 's dearest to thy bosom ! 
My purse is light, I've far to gang, 

And fain would be thy lodger ; 
I've served my king and country lang, — 

Take pity on a sodger. 

Sae wistfully she gazed on me, 

And lovelier was than ever ; 
Quo' she, A sodger ance I lo'ed. 

Forget him shall I never : 
Our humble cot and hamely fare 

Ye freely shall partake it ; 
That gallant badge, the dear cockade, 

Ye're welcome for the sake o't. 

She gazed — she reddened like a rose. 

Syne pale like ony lily; 
She sank within my arms, and cried. 

Art thou my ain dear Willie ? 
By Him who made yon sun and sky- - 

By whom true love 's regarded, 
I am the man : and thus may still 

True lovers be rewarded. 

The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame, 
And find thee still true-hearted ! 

Though poor in gear, we're rich in love, 
And mair we'se ne'er be parted. 






MEQ 0' THE MILL. 301 

Quo' she, My grandsire left me go we, 

A mailen ' plenished fairly; 
And come, my faithfu' sodger lad, 

Thou 'rt welcome to it dearly. 

For gold the merchant ploughs the main. 

The farmer ploughs the manor ; 
But glor}' is the sodger's prize, 

The sodger's wealth is honour. 
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise. 

Nor count him as a stranger : 
Eemember he 's his country's stay. 

In day and hour of danger. 



MEG O' THE MILL. 

Air — " bonnie lass, will yon lie in a barrack 1 " 

O KEN ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten H 
An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? 
She has gotten a coof ^ wi' a claute ' o' siller, 
And broken the heart o' the barley miller. 

The miller was strappin', the miller was ruddy 
A heart hke a lord, and a hue like a lady : 
The laird was a widdiefu' bleerit * knurl ; 
She's left the guid fellow and ta'en the churl. 

The miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving ; 
The laird did address her wi' matter more moving, — ■ 
A fine pacing horse wi' a clear chained bridle, 
A whip by her side, and a bonnie side-saddle. 

O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailing ! 
And wae on the love that is fixed on a mailen !' 
A tocher's nae word in a true lover's parle ; ' 
But gi'e me my love, and a fig for the warl ! 



ATJLD EOB MORRIS.' 

There's auld Rob IMorris that wons in yon glen, 
He's the king o' guid fellows and wale * of auld men ; 
He has gowd in his cofiers, he has owsen and kine, 
And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine. 

' Farm. * Fool. ^ Scraping. 

* Crooked, blear-eyed. * Farm. * Speech. 

^ The first two lines are taken from an old ballad, the rest is uhollj 
)riginal. 

* Choice. 



t 



802 DUNCAN 0RA7, 

She 's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May; 
She 's sweet as the evening amang the new hay; 
As blythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea, 
And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e. 

But oh ! she 's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird, 
And my daddie has nanght but a cot-house and yard ; 
A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed, — 
The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead. 

The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane ; 
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane ; 
I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist. 
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast 

O, had she but been of a lower degree, 
I then might ha'e hoped she wad smiled upon ro€ * 
0, how past descriving had then been my blias. 
As now my distraction no words can express 1 



DUNCAN GRAY. 

Duncan Geat cam' here to woo— 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't ! 
On blithe yule ' night, when we were xu*— 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't ! 
Maggie coost ^ her head fu' high, 
Looked asklent and unco skeigh,* 
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh; * 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't ' 

Duncan fleeched,* and Duncan prayed— 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig • — 

Ha, ha, &c 
Duncan sighed baith out and in, 
Grat his een baith bleert and blin*,' 
Spak' o' lowpin o'er a hnn ;' 

Ha, ha, &c. 

* Cbristmaa. ' Tossed. ^ Prond. 

* jMade poor Duncan stand at a shy distance. * Besought her. 

• A well-known rock in the Frith of Clyde. ^ Bleared and bliad. 

• Jumping o'er a precipice. 



€^ 



I_ 



WEART FA' TOV, DUNCAN GRAY. 303 

Time and chance are but a tide — 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Slighted love is sair to bide — 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, 
For a haughty hizzie die ? 
She may gae to — France for me I 

Ha, ha, &c. 

How it comes let doctors tell — 

Ha, ha, &c 
Meg grew sick, as he grew well — 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Something in her bosom wrings. 
For rehef a sigh she brings ; 
And O, her een, they spak' sic things I 

Ha, ha, &c. 

Duncan was a lad o' grace — 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Maggie's was a piteous case — 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Duncan could na be her death, 
Swelling pity smoored ' his wrath ; 
Now they're crouse and canty '^ baith. 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't 1 



WEARY FA' YOU, DUNCAN GEAY. 
Tune — "Duncan Gray." 

Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray— 

Ha, ha, the girdin' ' o't ! 
Wae gae by you, Duncan Gray — 

Ha, ha, the girdin' o't ! 
When a' the lave* gae to their play. 
Then I maun sit the lee-lang day. 
And jog the cradle wi' my tae, 
And a' for the girdin' o't. 

Bonnie was the Lammas moon - 

Ha, ha, the girdin' o't 1 
Glowrin' a' the hills aboon — 

Ha, ha, the girdin' o't I 

• Smothered. » Cheerful and merry. * Blndlnc. 

♦ Best. ^ 



D 



c 



804 THE PLOUOHMAK 

The girdin' brak, the beast cam' down, 
I tint my curch ' and baith my shoon ; 
A-h ! Duncan, ye're an unco loon — 
Wae on the bad girdin' o't ! 

But, Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith, — 

Ha, ha, the girdin' o't ! 
I'se bless you wi' my hindmost breath — 

Ha, ha, the girdin' o't ! 
Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith — 
The beast again can bear us baith. 
And auld Mess John will mend the skaitb,' 

And clout ^ the bad girdin' o't. 



THE PLOUGHMAN". 

Tune — " Dp wi' the ploughman.*' 

Tnio ploughman he's a bonnie lad. 

His mind is ever true, jo ; 
His garters knit below his knee. 
His bonnet it is blue, jo. 

Then up wi' my ploughman lad. 

And hey my merry ploughman ! 
Of a' the trades that 1 do ken. 
Commend me to the ploughman. 

My ploughman he comes hame at e'en. 

He's aften wat and weary : 
Cast oft' the wat, put on the dry. 

And gae to bed, my dearie ! 

I will wash my ploughman's hose. 
And I will dress his o'erly ; * 

I will mak' my plou:;liman's bed, 
And cheer him late and early. 

I ha'e been east, I ha'e been west, 
I ha'e been at Saint Johnston ; 

The bonniest sight that e'er I sa^v 
Was the ploughman laddie daiicia*. 

Snaw-white stockin's on his legs. 
And siller buckles glancin' ; 

A guid blue bonnet on his head — 
And 0, but he was handsome ! 



* Lost my cap. ' Harm. 

* Cravat. 



fi^ 



LANDLADY, COUNT THE LAW2N. 305 

Commend me to the barn-yard. 

And the corn-mon, man ; 
I never gat my coggie ' fou 
Till I met wi' the ploughman. 
Then up wi' my ploughman lad, 

And hey my merry ploughman I 
Of a' the trades that I do ken, 
Commend me to the ploughman. 



LA:^TDLADY, COUNT THE LAWIN. 

I Tiie first two verses only are by Burns.] 

Tune — "Hey tutti, taiti." 

Landlady, count the lawin, 

The day is near the dawin ; 

Ye 're a' blind drunk, bo3'3, 

And I 'ra but jolly fou.* 

Hey tutti, taiti. 

How tutti, taiti — 

Wha's fou now ? 

Cog an' ye were aye fou, 
(!og an' ye were aye fou, 
I wad sit and sing to you. 
If ye were aye fou. 

Weel may ye a' be ! 
Ill may we never see ! 
God bless the king, boys. 
And the companie ! 

Hey tutti, taiti. 

How tutti, taiti — 

Wha's fou now ? 

TO DAUNTON ME. 

Tune — "To daunton me." 

The blude-red rose at Yule may blaw, 
The simmer lilies bloom in snaw, 
The frost may freeze the deepest sea; 
But an auld man shall never daunton ' me. 

To daunton me, and me sae young, 
Wi' his fause heart and flattering tongue, 
That is the thing you ne'er shall see; 
For an auld man shall never daunton me. 

1 Wooden dish * Full. » Daunt 



E 



-Tr 



306 COME, BOAT ME O'ER TO CHARLIE. 

For a' his meal and a' tis maut. 
For a' his fresh beef and his saut. 
For a' his gold and white monie, 
An auld man shall never daunton me. 

His gear may buy him kye and yowes, 
His gear may buy him glens and kiiowes; 
But me he shall not buy nor fee, 
For an auld man shall never daunton me. 

He hirples ' twa-fauld as he dow,'' 
Wi' his teethless gab * and his auld held pow,* 
And the rain dreeps down frae his red bleere 1 e'€ 
That auld man shall never daunton me. 

To daunton me, and me sae young, 
Wi' his fause heart and flattering tongue, 
That is the thing you ne'er shall see ; 
For an auld man shall never daunton me. 



COMB, BOAT MB O'ER TO CHAELIE.* 
Tune — " O'er the water to Charlie." 

OoME boat me o'er, come row me o'er, 

Come boat me o'er to Charlie ; 
I'll gi'e John Ross another bawbee,' 

To boat me o'er to Charlie. 

We '11 o'er the water and o'er the sea, 
We '11 o'er the water to Charlie ; 

Come weal, come woe, we '11 gather and go, 
And live or die wi' Charlie. 

I lo'e weel my Charlie's name, 

Though some there be abhor him; 
But 0, to see auld Nick gaun hame. 

And Charlie's faes before him ! 

I swear and vow by moon and stars, 

And sun that shines so early. 
If I had twenty thousand lives, 

I 'd die as aft for Charlie. 

We '11 o'er the water and o'er the sea, 
We '11 o'er the water to Charlie; 

Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go, 
And live or die wi' Charlie. 

' Limps. ' Can. ^ Mouth. 

* Bali head. » Prince Charles Edward. • Halfpenny* 



307 



A EOSEBUD BY MT EARLY WALK. 

[Composed in honour of little Jean Cruikshanks, whom he had ab-eady 
honoured with a poem.] 

Tune—" The Rosebud." 

A ROSEBUD by my early walk, 
Adown a corn-enclosed bawlc, 
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk. 

All on a dewy yiorning. 
Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled. 
In a' its crimson glory spread, 
And drooping rich the dewy head, 

It scents the early morning. 

Within the bush, her covert nest, 
A little linnet fondly prest ; 
The dew sat chilly on her breast 

Sae early in the morning. 
She soon shall see her tender brood, 
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, 
Amang the fresh green leaves bedeweti. 

Awake the early morning. 

So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair ! 
On trembling string, or vocal air. 
Shall sweetly pay the tender care 

That tends thy early morning. 
So thou, sweet rosebud, young and gay, 
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day, 
And bless the parent's evening ray 

That watched thy early morning. 



EATTLIN', ROARIN' WILLIE.* 
Tune — " Rattlin', roarin' Willie." 

rattlin', roarin' Willie, 

0, he held to the fair. 
An' for to sell his fiddle. 

An' buy some other ware ; 

^ "The hero of this chant," says Burns, "was one of the worthiest 
fellows in the world — William Dunbar, Esq , Writer to the Signet, Edin- 
burgh, and Colonel of the Crochallan corps, a club of wits, who took 
bhat title at the time of raising the Fencible regiments." 



I 



308 BRAVING ANQR7 WINTER'S STOkMS 

But parting wi' his fiddle, 
The saut tear blin't his e'e ; 

And rattlin', roarin' Willie, 
Ye 're welcome hame to me ! 

O Willie, come sell your fiddle, 

sell your fiddle sae fine ; 
O Willie, come sell your fiddle. 

And buy a pint o' wine ! 
If I should sell ray fiddle, 

The warl' would think I was mad; 
For mony a rantin' day 

My fiddle and I ha'e had. 

As I cam' by Crochallan, 

1 cannUy keekit ben — 
Rattlin', roarin' Willie 

Was sitting at yon board en*; 
Sitting at yon board en', 

And amang guid companie; 
Rattlin', roarin' Willie, 

Ye 're welcome hame to me I 



BRAYING ANGRY WINTER','^ STORMS.* 
Tune — " Neil Gow's Lamentation ^or Abercaimy.* 

Where, braving angry winter's storms, 

The lofty Ochels rise. 
Far in their shade my Peggy's charms 

First blest my wondering eyes ; 
As one who by some savage stream 

A lonely gem surveys. 
Astonished, doubly marks its beam 

With art's most pohshed blaze. 

Blest be the wild sequestered shade, 

And blest the day and hour, 
"^.Vhere Peggy's charms I first surveyed, 

When first I felt their power ! 
The tyrant Death, with gi-im control, 

May seize my fleeting breath; 
But tearing Peggy from my soul 

Must be a stronger death. 

' The heroine of this song was Margaret Chalmera. 



309 

MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE THING. 

She is a winsome wee thing, 
She is a handsome wee tiling, 
She is a bonnie wee thing, 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 

I never saw a fairer, 
I never lo'ed a dearer, 
And niest my heart I 'U wear her 
For fear my jewel tine. 

She is a winsome wee thing, 
She is a handsome wee thing. 
She is a bonnie wee thing, 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 

The warl's wrack we share o't. 
The warstle and the care o't ; 
Wi' her I '11 blithely bear it, 
And think my lot divine. 



BONNIE LESLEY.! 

O, SAW ye bonnie Lesley 

As she gaed o'er the border? 
She 's gane, like Alexander, 

To spread her conquests farther. 

To see her is to love her, 

And love but her for ever; 
For Nature made her what she is. 

And never made anither ! 

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, 

Thy subjects we, before thee: 
Thou art divine, fair Lesley, 

The hearts o' men adore thee. 

The De'il he could na scaith thee. 
Or aught that wad belang thee ; 

He 'd look into thy bonuie face, 
And say, " I canna wrang thee." 

• I have just been looking over the " Collier's Bonnie Dochter ;" and 
if the following rhapsody, which I composed the other day on a charm ng 
Ayrshire girl, Miss Lesley BaiUie, as she passed through this place to 
England, will suit your taste better than the " Collier Lassie," fall on and 
welcome — BuRWS, 



810 TIBBIE DVXBAR. 

The Powers aboon will tent ' thee ; 

Misfortune sha' na steer *"' thee; 
Thou 'rt, like themselves, sae lovely 

That iU they 'U ne'er let near thee. 

r^eturn again, fair Lesley, 
Eeturn to Caledonie ! 

That we may brag we ha'e a lass 
There 's nane again sae bonnie. 



TIBBIE DUNBAR. 
Tune — "Johnny M'Gill." 

O, WILT thou go wi' me, 
Sweet Tibbie Dunbar? 

O, wiit thou go wi' me. 
Sweet Tibbie Dunbar P 

Wilt thou ride on a horse. 
Or be drawn in a car, 

Or walk by my side, 
sweet Tibbie Dunbar P 

I care na thy daddie. 

His lands and his money, 
I care na thy kin- 

Sae high and sae lordly ; 
E ut say thou wilt ha'e me 

For better for waur — 
And come in thy coatie, 

Sweet Tibbie Dunbai'I 



MY HARRY WAS A GALLANT GAY» 
Tune — " Highlander's Lament." 

My Harry was a gallant gay, 'j 

Fu' stately strode he on the plain ; ;| 

But now he 's banished far away, ji 

I 'H never see him back again. i 

O, for him back again ! l! 

0, for him back again ! {« 

I wad gi'e a' Knockhaspie's land \\ 

For Highland Harry back again. j 

'\ 

' Take care o£ * Hurt. I 

' "The oldest title," says Burns, " I ever heard to this air was 'The j 

Highland Watch's Farewell to Ii-eland.' The chorus I picked up from an j 

9ld woman in Dumblane ; the rest of the song is mine." j 



nJ, 



THE TAILOR. 311 

When a' the lave ' gae to their bed, 

I wander dowie ^ up the glen ; 
1 set me down and greet my fill, 

And aye I wish him back again. 

0, were some villains hangit high. 

And ilka body had their ain ! 
Then 1 might see the joyfu' sight, 
My Highland Harry back again, 
O, for him back again ! 

O, for him back again ! 
I wad gi'e a' Kuockhaspie's land 
For Highland Harry back again 



THE TAILOR.* 

Tune — " The tailor fell through the bed, thimbles an' »*.' 

The tailor fell through the bed, thimbles an' a' 

The tailor fell through the bed, thimbles an' a'^ 

The blankets were thin, and the sheets they were sma'- 

The tailor fell through the bed, thimbles an' a'. 

The sleepy bit lassie she dreaded nae ill ; 
The sleepy bit lassie she dreaded nae ill ; 
The weather was cauld, and the lassie lay stUl, 
She thought that a tailor could do her nae ill. 

Gi'e me the groat again, canny young man ; 
Gi'e me the groat again, canny young man ; 
The day it is short, and the night it is lang, — 
The dearest siller that ever I wan ! 

There 's somebody weary wi' lying her lane; 
There *s somebody weary wi' lying her lane ; 
There 's some that are dowie, I traw wad be fain 
Uo see the bit tailor come skippin' again. 



BONNIE JBAN.'» 
Tune — "Bonnie Jean." 

There was a lass, and she was fair, 
At kirk and market to be seen ; 

When a' the fairest maids were met, 
The fairest maid was bonnie Jean. 

' Rest of the inmates of the house. ^ Sadly. 

* The second and fourth verses only of this song are by Bums. 

* Miss Jean McMurdo, of Prumlanrig. 



.r 



312 BONNIE JEAN. 

And aye site wrought her mammie's waik, 

And aye she sang sae merrilie ; 
1'he bhthest bird upon the bush 
Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. 

But hawks will rob the tender joys 
That bless the little hntwhite's nest; 

And frost will blight the fairest flowers, 
And love will break the soundest rest. 

Yoing Robie was the brawest lad, 
The flower and pride of a' the glen ; 

And he had owsen, sheep, and kye, 
And wanton naigies nine or ten. 

He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste. 
He danced wi' Jeanie on the down ; 

And lang ere witless Jeanie wist. 

Her heart was tint, her peace was stown. 

As in the bosom o' the stream 
The moonbeam dwells at dewy e'en: 

So trembling, pure, was tender love 
Within the breast o' bonnie Jean.* 

And now she works her mammie's wark. 
And aye she sighs wi' care and pain ; 

Yet wist na what her ail might be. 
Or what wad mak' her weel again. 

But did na Jeanie's heart loup light. 

And did na joy blink in her e'e, 
As Eobie tauld a lale o' love 

Ae e'enin' on the lily lea P 

The sun was sinking in the west, 

The birds sang sweet in ilka grove ; 
His cheek to hers he fondly prest, 

And whispered thus his tale o' love : — 

Oh, Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear ; 

Oh, canst thou think to fancy me? 
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot, 

And learn to tent the farms wi' me ? 

At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge. 

Or naething else to trouble thee ; 
But stray amang the heather-bells. 

And tent the waving corn wi' me. 

' In the original MS. Burns ask? Mr, Thomson if this stanza is not 
eriginal. 



=Jr 



SIMMER'S A PLEASANT TIME. 313 

New what could artless Jeanie doP 

She had nae will to say him na : 
At length she blushed a sweet consent. 

And love was aye between them twa. 



gIMMEE'S A PLEASAl^T TIME.* 
Tune — " Aye waukin o'." 

Simmer 's a pleasant time ; 

Flowers of every colour; 
The water rins o'er the heugh, 

And I long for my true lover. 

Aye waukin 0, 

Waukin still and wearie; 
Sleep I can get nana 

For thinking on my dearie. 

When I sleep I dream, 
When I wauk I 'm eerie; 

Sleep I can get nane 

For thinking on my dearie. 

r.anely night comes on, 
A' the lave are sleepin' ; 

I think on my bonnie lad, 

And 1 bleer my een with greetin*. 

Aye waukin O, 

Waukin still and wearie ; 
Sleep I can get nane 

For thinking on my dearie. 



BEWARE 0' BONNIE ANN. 
Tune — "Te gallants laight." 

Yk gallants bright, I rede ye right. 

Beware o' bonnie Ann ; 
Her comely face sae fa' o' grace, 

Your heart she will trepan. 
Her een sae bright, like stars by night, 

Her skin is hke the swan ; 
Sae jimply laced her genty waist, 

That sweetly ye might span. 

' The first verse is by Burns ; the remainder liad only the benefit of h^ 
revisal. 



a 



314 WHEN R0^\ MAY COMES IN WP FLOWERS. 

Youth, grace, and love attendant move, 

And pleasure leads the van : 
In a' their charms, and conquering axms. 

They wait on bonnie Ann. 
The captive bands may chain the hands. 

But love enslaves the man ; 
Ye gallants braw, I rede you a', 

Beware o' bonnie Ann ! 

[The heroine of this song was Ann I>^:isterton, daughter of Allan Master- 
ton, one of the Poet's friends, and author of the air of " Strathallau's 
Lament."! 



WHEN ROSY MAY COMES IN WI' FLOWERS. 
Tune — "The gardener wi' his paidle.' 

When rosy May comes in wi' flowers, 
To deck her gay green-spreading bowers, 
Then busy, busy are his hours — 

The gardener wi' his paidle. 
The crystal waters gently fa' ; 
The merry birds are lovers a' ; 
The scented breezes round him blaw — 

The gardener wi' his paidle. • 

When purple morning starts the hare 

To steal upon her early fare, 

Then through the dews he maun repair— 

The gardener wi' his paidle. 
When day, expiring in the west, 
The curtain draws of Nature's rest, 
He flies to her arms he lo'es the best^— 

The gardener wi' his paidle. 



BLOOMINa NELLY. 
Tune — " On a bank of flowers." 

On a bank of flowers, in a summer day, 

For summer lightly drest, 
Tho youthful blooming Nelly lay, 

With love and sleep opprest ; 
When Willie, wandering through the W(_i d, 

Who for her favour oft had sued, 
He gaiied, he wished, he feared, he blushed. 

And trembled where he stood. 



in 



THE DAY RETURNS. 316 

Her closed eyes, like weapons sheathed. 

Were sealed in soft repose ; 
Her lips, still as she fragrant breathed. 

It richer dyed the rose. 
The sjjringing lilies sweetly prest, 

Wild — wanton, kissed her rival breast ; 
He gazed, he wished, he feared, he blushed— 

His bosom ill at rest. 

Her robes, light waving in the breeze. 

Her tender limbs embrace! 
Her lovely form, her native ease. 

All harmony and grace ! 
Tumultous tides his pulses roll, 

A faltering, ardent kii^s he stole ; 
He gazed, he wished, he feared, he bluhhed. 

And sighed his very soul. 

As flies the partridge from the brake. 

On fear-inspired wings. 
So Nelly, starting, half-awake. 

Away affrighted springs ; 
But Willie followed — as he should, 

He overtook her in the wood ; 
He vowed, he prayed, he found the maid 

Forgiving aU and good. 



THE DAY RETURNS.' 
Tune — " Seventh of November." 

The day x-etums, my bosom burns — 

The blissful day we twa did meet ; 
Though winter wild in tempest toiled, 

Is e'er summer sun was half sae sweet. 
Thau a' the pride that loads the tide, 

And crosses o'er the sultry line; 
Than kingly robes, thaii crowns and globes, 

Heaven gave me more — it made thee mine J 

While day and night can bring dehght, 

Or nature aught of pleasure give, 
While joys above my mind can move. 

For thee, and thee alone I live ! 
When that grim foe of life below 

Comes in between to make us part, 
The iron hand that breaks our band 

It breaks my bUss — it breaks my heart. 

' Written in nonour of the anniversary of the marriige of Mr. aiid 
Mrs. Eiddel, of Friars-Carse. 



r 



316 

IIT LOVE SHE 'S BUT A LASSIE YET. 
Tune — " Lady Badinscoth'a Reel " 

My love she 's but a lassie yet, 

My love she 's but a lassie yet ; 
We '11 let her stand a year or twa, 

She '11 no be half sae saucy yet. 
I rue the day I sought her, O, 

I rue the day I sought her, ; 
Wha gets her need na say she 's ■wooed» 

But he may say he 's bought her, I 

Come, draw a drap o' the best o't yet, 

Come, draw a drap o' the best o't yet; 
Gae seek for pleasure where ye will. 

But here I never missed it yet. 
We're a' dry wi' drinking o't. 

We're a' dry wi' drinking o't ; 
The minister kissed the fiddler's wife. 

An' could na preach for thinkin' o't. 



JAMIE, COME, TEY ME. 

Ttme — "Jamie, come, try lue." 

CHORUS. 

Jamie, come, try me, 
Jamie, come, try me, 
If thou would win my love^ 
Jamie, come, try me. 

If thou should ask my love, 

Could I deny thee ? 
If thou would win my love, 

Jamie, come, try me. 

If thou should kiss me, love, 
Who could espy thee ? 

If thou wad be my love, 
Jamie, come, try me. 

Jamie, come, try me, 
Jamie, come, try me ; 
If thou would win my love 
Jamie, come, try me. 



P^ 



317 

MT BOITNIE MAEY. 
Tune — " Go, fetch to me a pint o' win©.** 

Go, fetch to me a pint o' wine, 

An' fill it in a silver tassie, 
That I may drink before I go 

A service to my bonnie lassie. 
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith ; 

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry ; 
The ship lies by the Berwick-law, 

And 1 mann leave my bonnie Mary. 

The trumpets sound, the banners fly, 

The glittering spears are ranked ready; 
The shouts o' war are heard afar, 

The battle closes thick and bloody ; 
But it 's not the roar o' sea or shore 

Wad make me langer wish to tarry ; 
Ifor shout o' war thiit's heard afar — 

It 's leaving thee, my bonnie Maiy, 



THE LAZY MIST. 

Tune — " Here's a health to my true loTe." 

The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill. 
Concealing the course of the dark winding rill ; 
How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear. 
As autumn to winter resigns the pale year! 
The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown, 
And all the gay foppery of summer is flown : 
Apart let me wander, apart let me muse, 
How quick time is flying, how keen fate pursues 1 

How long I have lived — but how much lived in vain ! 

How little of life's scanty span may remain ! 

"What aspects old Time, in his progress, has worn ! 

What ties cruel Fate in my bosom has torn ! 

How foolish, or worse, till our summit is gained ! 

And downward, how weakened, how dai'kened, how 

pained ! 
This life 's not worth having, with all it can give : 
For something beyond it poor man sure mvMt Uv©. 



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318 



THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. 
Tune — " 0, mount and go." 

CHORUS. 

O, MOUNT and go, 

Mount and make you ready 
0, mount and go, 

And be the Captain's lady, 

W!ien the drums do beat, 

And the cannons rattle, 
I'iiou shalt sit in state. 

And see thy love in bat lie. 

When the vanquished foe 

Sues for peace and quiet, 
To the shades we '11 go, 
And in love enjoy it. 
O, mount and go. 

Mount and make you rendy; 
O, mount and go. 
And be the Captain's laly. 



WEE WILLIE GRAY.' 

Web Willie Gray, and his leather wallet ; 
Peel a willow- wand to be him boots and jacket : 
The rose upon the brier will be him trouse and doublet, 
The rose upon the brier wiU be him trouse and doublet. 

Wee Willie Gray, and hia leather wallet ; 
Twice a lily flower will be him sark and cravat : 
Feathers of a flie wad feather up his bonnet. 
Feathers of a flie wad feather up his bonnet. 



O, GUTD ALE COMES. 

O, Gum ale comes, and guid ale goes, 
Guid ale gars * me sell my hose, 
Sell my hose, and pawn my shoon; 
Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 

' Written in imitation and to the tone of a nursery song. ' Makes. 



,SS: ^.liSrr 



OF A' TEE AIRTS THE WIND CAN BLAW. 319 

I had sax owsen in a pleugh, 

They drew a' weel etieiigh, 
I selled them a' just ane by ane; 

Quid ale keeps my heart aboon. 

Gnid ale hands me bare and busy, 

Gars me moop wi' the servant hizzie. 
Stand i' the stool * when I ha'e done ; 
Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 

O guid ale comes, and guid ale goes, 
Guid ale gars me seU my hose, 
Sell my hose, and pawn my shoon ; 
Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 



OF A' THE AIETS THE ^TND CAN BLAW. 

Tune - " Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey." 

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, 

I dearly like the west, 
For there the bonnie lassie lives, 

The lassie I lo'e best : 
There wild woods grow, and rivers row 

And mony a hill between ; 
But day and night my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' my Jean.* 

I see her in the dewy flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair; 
I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 

I hear her charm the air : 
There's not a bonuie flower that springs 

By fountain, shaw, or green. 
There's not a bonnie bird that sings, 

But minds me o' my Jean. 

Upon the banks o' flowing Clyde 

The lasses busk them braw ; 
But when their best they ha'e put on. 

My Jeannie dings them a' : 
In hamely weeds she far exceeds 

The fairest o' the town ; 
Baith sage and gay confess it sae. 

Though dressed iu russet gown. 

' Stool of repentance. * Jean Armour. 



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320 WHtl^TLS O'ER THE LAVE O'T. 

The gamesome lamb, that sucks its dam, 

Mair harmless canna be ; 
She has nae faut (if sic ye ca't). 

Except her love for me. 
The sparkhiig dew, o' clearest hue, 

Is like her shining een ; 
In shape and air nane can compare 

Wi' my sweet lovely Jean. 

O, blaw ye westlin winds, blaw safb 

Amang the leafy trees, 
Wi' balmy gale, frae hill and dale 

Bring hame the laden bees ; 
And bring the lassie back to me 

That's aye sae neat and clean ; 
Ae smile o her wad banish care, 

Sae charming is my Jean. 

What sighs and vows amang the knoweB 

Hae passed atween us twa ! 
How fond to meet, how wae to part. 

That night she gaed awa ! 
The Powers aboon can only ken. 

To whom the heart is seen. 
That nane can be sae dear to me 

As my sweet lovely Jean ! 



WHISTLE O'ER THE LAYE O'T. 

Tim«— " Whistle o'er the lave o't." 

First when Maggy was my care, 
Heaven, I thought, was in her air; 
Now we 're married — spier nae mair— 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. 
Meg was meek, and Meg was mild, 
Bonnie Meg was Nature's child ; 
Wiser men than me's beguiled — 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. 

How we live, my Meg and me. 
How we love, and how we 'grea^ 
I care na by how few may see; 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. 
Wha I wish were magi^ots' meat. 
Dished up in her winding-sheet, 
I could write — but Meg maun see't— 

Whistle o'er the lave o't 



rif 



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321 



0, CAN YE LABOUR LEA? 

0, CAN ye labour lea, young man, 

An' can ye labour lea ? 
Gae back tlie gate ye cam' again, 

Te'se never scorn me. 

I feed a man at Martinmas, 

Wi' airl-pennies three ; 
A n' a' the fau't I fan' wi' him. 

He couldna labour lea, 

The stibble rig is easy ploughed. 

The fallow land is free ; 
But wha wad keep the handless coof 

That couldna labour lea ? 



O, \TERB I ON PARNASSUS' HILL.» 

Tune — " My love is lost to me." 

0, WERE I on Parnassus' hill I 
Or had of Helicon my fill ; 
That I might catch poetic skill 

To sing how dear I love thee ! 
But Nith maun be my Muse's well, 
I\Iy Muse maun be thy bonnie sel' ; 
On Oorsincon I '11 glower and spell, 

And write how dear I love thee. 

Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my lay I 
For a' the lee-lang simmer's day 
I couldna sing, I couldna say 

How much, how dear I love thee. 
I see thee dancing o'er the green. 
Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean, 
Thy tempting lips, thy roguish eeu — 

By heaven and earth I love thee ! 

By night, by day, a-field, at hame. 

The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame ; 

And aye I muse and sing thy name — 

I only live to love thee. 
Though I were doomed to wander on. 
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun. 
Till my last weary sand was run; 

Till then — and then I 'd love thee ! 

' Mrs. Bums was welcomed to her husband's home in this song. 

T 



a 



!! 322 



C, WERE MY LOVi: TON LILAC FAIU 
Tune — " Hugkie Gcaihszu." 

0, WERE my love yon lilac fair, 
Wi' purple blossoms to the spring, 

And I a bird to shelter there. 

When wearied on, my little wing ; 

How I wad mourn, when it was torn 
By autumn wild, and winter rude ! 

But I wad sing, on wanton wing. 
When youthfu' May its bloom reiiawed, 

O, gin my love were yon red rose, 
That grows upon the castle wa*. 

And I mysel' a drap o' dew. 
Into her bonnie broast to fa' ; 

0, there, beyond expression blest, 
I 'd feast on beauty a' the night ; 

Sealed on her silk-saft faulds to rest. 
Till fley'd awa' by Phoebus' Ught ! 



THERE'S A YOUTH IF THIS CITY. 
Tune — " Neil Gow's Lament." 

There 's a youth in thia city. 

It were a great pity 
That he frae our lasses should wander awa'; 

For he 's bonnie and braw, 

Weel favoured witha'. 
And his hair has a natural buckle an' a'. 

His coat is the hue 

Of his bonnet sae blue : 
His fecket is white as the new-driven snaw; 

His hose they are blae, 

And his shoon like the slae. 
And his clear siller buckles they dazzle us a*. 

For beauty and fortune 

The laddie's been coui-tin* ; 
Weel-featured, weel-tochered, weel-mounted, and braw; 

But chiefly the siller. 

That gars him gang till her, 
Tbft nenny's the jewel that beautifies a'. 



IL= 



Ml HEART 'S IN THE HIGHLANDS. 323 

There's Meg wi' the mailen 

That fain wad a haen him ; 
And Susie, whose daddy was laird o' the ha'; 

There's lang-tochered Nancy 

Maist fetters his fancy — 
But the laddie's dear sal' he lo'es dearest of a' 



MY HEAET'S IN THE HIGHLAJ!TDS. 

Tane — "Failte na Miosg " 

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; 
My heart 's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer ; 
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe— 
My heart 's in the Highlands wherever I go. 
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North 1 
Tlie birthplace of valour, the country of worth; 
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, 
ilie hills of the Highlands for ever 1 love. 

Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow ! 
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below ! 
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods ! 
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods ! 
My heart 's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, 
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer; 
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe — 
My heart 's in the Highlands wherever I go. 



BLITHE HA'B I BEEN ON TON HILL. 
Tune — " Liggeram Cosh." 

Blithe ha'e I been on yon hill, 

As the lambs before me ; 
Careless ilka thought and free, 

As the breeze flew o'er mc ; 
Now nae longer sport and play, 

]\Iirth or sang can please nie; 
Lesley is sae fair and coy, 

Care and anguish seize me. 

Heavy, heavy is the task, 

Hopeless love declaring: 
Trembling, I dow nocht but glowert 

Sighing, dumb, despairing ! 



324 COME, LET ME TAKE THEB 

If she winna ease the thraws 
In my bosom swelling, 

Underneath the grass-green sod 
Soon maun be my dwelling. 



COME, LET ME TAKE THEE. 
Air—" Cauld Kail," 

OoME, let me take thee to my breat t. 

And pledge we ne'er shall sunder ; 
And I shall spurn as vilest dust 

The warld's wealth and grandeur; 
And do I hear my Jeanie own 

That equal transports move her P 
I ask for dearest Hfe alone 

That I may Hve to love her. 

Thus in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, 

I clasp my countless treasure ; 
I '11 seek nae mair o' heaven to share 

Than sic a moment's pleasure : 
And by thy een, sae bonnie blue, 

I swear I 'm thine for ever ! 
And on thy lips I seal my vow, 

And break it shall I never. 



JOHN ANDERSON, MY J0.> 
Tune — ** John Anderson, my jo." 

John Anderson, my jo, John, 

When we were first acquent; 
Your locks were like the raven. 

Your bonnie brow was brent ; 
But now your brow is held, John, 

Your locks are like the snaw ; 
But blessings on your frosty pow, 

John Anderson, my jo. 

John Anderson, my jo, John, 
We clamb the hill thegither; 

And mony a canty day, John, 
We *ve had wi' ane anitheri 

' Love. 



OUR THRISSLES FLOURISHED FRESH AND FAIR. 325 

Now we maun totter down, John, 

But hand in hand we '11 go ; 
And sleep thegither at the foot* 

John Anderson, my jo. 



OUR THRISSLES' FLOURISHED FRESH AKD FAIP 
Tone — "Awa'j Wliigs, awa'!" 

OuK thrissles flourished fresh and fair, 

And bonnie bloomed our roses ; 
But Whigs cam' like a frost in J une, 

And withered a' our posies. 

CHORTTS. 

Awa', Whigs, awa' ! 

Awa', Whigs, awa' ! 
Te 're but a pack o' traitor louna. 

Ye '11 do nae guid at a'. 

Oxir ancient crown's fa'n in the dust — 
De'il blin' them wi' the stoure o't ! 

And write their names in his black beuk 
Wha gae the Whigs the power o't! 

Our sad decay in Church and State 

Surpasses my descriving; 
The Whigs cam' o'er us for a curse, 

And we ha'e done wi' thriving. 

Grim Vengeance lang has ta'en a nap^ 

But we may see him wauken ; 
Gude help the day when royal heads 
Are hunted like a maukin ! 
Awa', Whigs, awa' ! 

Awa', Whigs, awa' ! 
Te 're but a pack o' traitor louna, 
Te 'U do nae gude at a'. 



BROSE AND BUTTER. 

0, gi'e my love brose, brose, 
(.i'e my love brose ami butter; 

For nane in Carrick or Kyle 
Can please a lassie better. 

Thistles. 



-i 



326 0, MERRY HA'E I BEEN TEETH IN' A HECKLE. 

The laverock lo'es the grass, 

The muirlien lo'es the heather; 
But yi'e me a braw moonhght, 

And me and my love together. 



O, I\IERRY HA'E I BEEN TEETHIN' A HECKLE 
Tane — Lord Breadalbane's March." 

0, MEKUY ha'e I been teethin' a heckle,^ 

And merry ha'e I been shapin' a spoon; 
And merry ha'e I been cloutin' a keetle, 

And kissin' my Katie when a' was done. 
O, a' the lang day I ca' at my hammer, 

An' a' the lan^j day I w^histle and sing; 
A' the lang night I cuddle my kimmer. 

An' a' the lang night am as happy 's a king. 

Bitter in dool I hckit my winnins, 

0' marrying Bess, to gi'e her a slave : 
Blest be the hour she cooled in her linnens, 

And blithe be the bird that sings on her grave 1 
Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie, 

An' come to my arms and kiss me again I 
Drunken or sober, here 's to thee, Katie ! 

And blest be the day I did it again. 



THE BRAES 0' BALLOOHMYLE* 
Tune — " Braes o' Ballochmyle." 

The Catrine woods were yellow seen, 

The flowers decayed on Catrine lea, 
Nae laverock sang on hillock green, 

But nature sickened on the e'e. 
Through faded groves Maria sang, 

Hersel' in beauty's bloom the while, 
And aye the wild-wood echoes rang, 

Fareweel the braes o' Ballochmyle ! 

Mending the steel prongs of the flax-dressing machine, called a 
" heckle." 

- Maria Whitefoord, eldest daughter of Sir John Whitefoord, after- 
ivards Mrs. Cranston, was the heroine of this song. 



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IJI HU 



LAMENl. 827 

Low in your winlrj' beds, ye flowers, 

Again ye '11 flourish fresh and fair ; 
Ye birdies dumb, in withering bowers, 

Again ye '11 charm the vocal air. 
But here, alas ! for me nae n)air 

Shall birdie charm or floweret smile ; 
Fareweel the bonnie banks of Ayr ! 

Fareweel, fareweel, sweet Ballochmyle I 



LAMENT. 

WRITTEN AT A TIME WHEN THE POET WAS ABOTT TO LEATD 
SCOTLAND.' 

Tune — "The Banks of the Devon." 

O'er the mist-shrouded cliffs of their lone mountain straying. 
Where the wild winds of winter incessantly rave. 

What woes wring my heart while intently surveying 
The storm's gloomy path on the breast of the wave ! 

Fe foam-crested billows, allow me to wail. 
Ere ye toss me afar from my loved native shore ; 

Where the flower vsrhich bloomed sweetest in Ooila'a green 
vale, 
The pride of my bosom, my Mary 's no more ! 

No more I y the banks of the streamlet we '11 wander, 
And smile at the moon's rimpled face in the wave; 

No more &■ til my arms cling with fondness around her. 
For the dewdrops of morning fall cold on her grave. 

No more shall the soft thrill of love warm my breast ; 

I haste with the storm to a far-distant shore ; 
Where, unknown, unlaraented, my ashes shall rest, 

And joy shall revisit my bosom no more. 



TO MARY IN HEAVEN.* 
Tune — " Death of Captain Cook." 

Thou lingering star, with lessening ray. 
That lov'st to greet tiie early morn, 

Again thou usher' st in the day 
My Mary from my soul was torn. 

' Originally published in the Dumfries Jowrncd ; but authorship 
doubtful. 

^ Mary Campbell, or Highland Mary. 



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S«8 EVAN BANKS. 

O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
Seest thou thy lovei' lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 

That sacred hour can I forget ? 

Can I forget the hallowed grove, 
Where, by tlie winding Ayr, we met. 

To live one day of parting love ? 
Eternity will not efface 

Those records dear of transports past; 
Thy image at our last embrace — 

Ah, little thought we 'twas our last \ 

A.JV, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore, 

O'erhung with wild woods, thickening green ; 
The fragrant birch, and hawthoi-n hoar, 

Twined am'rous round the raptured Si;ene ; 
The liowers sprang wanton to be prest, 

The lairds sang love on every spray — 
Till too, too soon the glowing west, 

Proclaimed the speed of winged day. 

Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, 

And fondly broods with miser care ! 
Time but th' impression stronger makes. 

As streams their channels deeper wear. 
My Mary, dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy j^lace of blissful rest ? 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 



EVAN BAITKS. 

Tune — "Savourna Delish." 

Slotv spreads the gloom my soul desires; 
The sun from India's shore retires : 
To Evan Banks, with temperate ray, 
Home of my youth, he leads the day. 

Oh, banks to me for ever dear ! 
Oh, stream whose murmurs still I heari 
All, all my hopes of bliss reside 
Where Evan minji'les with the Clyde. 



EPPTE ADATR. 



329 



And ste, in simple bea-iity drest, 
Whose image lives within my breast -. 
Who, trembling, heard my parling sigh. 
And long pursued me with her eye. 

Does she, with heart unchanged as mine, 
Oft in the vocal bowers recline ? 
Or, where yon grot o'erhangs the tide, 
Muse while the Evan seeks the Clyde? 

Ye lofty banks that Evan bound ! 
Te lavish woods that wave around, 
And o'er the stream your shadows throw, 
Which sweetly winds so far below ; 

What secret charm to niem'ry brings 
All that on Evan's border springs ! 
Sweet banks ! ye bloom by Mti ry's side : 
Blest stream ! she views thee haste toC^lyds. 

Can all the wealth of India's coast 
Atone for years in absence lost ? 
Return, ye moments of delight ; 
With richer treasures bless my sight ! 

Swift from this desert let me part, 
And fly to meet a kindred heart ! 
Nor more may aught my steps divide 
From that dear stream which flows to ClyiJa. 



EPPIE ADAIR. 

. Tune—" My Eppie." 

An' oh, my Eppie ! 
My jewel, my Eppie! 
Wha wadna be happy 

Wi' Eppie Adair ? 
B}^ love, and by beauty. 
By law and by duty, 
I swear to be true to 

My Eppie Adair ! 

An' oh, my Eppie ! 
My jewel, my Eppie! 
Wha wadna be happy 

Wi' Eppie Adair? 
A' pleasure exile me. 
Dishonour defile me, 
If e'er I beguile thee, 

My Eppie Adair! 



Jp 



330 

THE BATTLE OF SHBHIPP-IlfmR. 

[between the duke of ARGYLL AND THE EARL Of MAE.] 
Tune— " Gameronian Rant." 

" Oh, cam' ye liere the fight to shun, 

Or herd the sheep wi' me, man ? 
Or were je at the Sherra-muir, 

And did the battle see, man ? " 
I saw the battle sair and tough, 
And reekin'-red ran mony a sheug' 
My heart, for fear, gaed sough for sough. 
To hear the thuds,''' and see the cluds ^ 
O' clans frae woods, in tartan duds,* 

Wha glaumed* at kingdoms three, man. 

The red-coat lads, wi' black cockauds, » 

To meet them were na slaw, man ; 
They rushed and pushed, and blude OTitgushed, 

And mony a bonk ® did fa', man : 
The great Argyll led on his files, 
I wat they glanced for twenty miles : 
They hacked and hashed, while broadswords clashed, 
And through they dashed, and hewed and smashed, 

'Till fey ' men died awa', man. 

But had ye seen the philibegs, 

And skyrin tartan trews,^ man ; 
When in the teeth they dared our Whiga 

And covenant true blues, man ; 
In lines extended lang and large, 
When bayonets o'erjjowered the targe, 
And thouKands hastened to the charge, 
Wr Highland wrath they frae the sheath 
Drew blades o' death, 'till, out o' breath, 

They fled like frighted doos,' man. 

** Oh, how de'il, Tam, can that be true ? 
The chase gaed frae the north, man; 
I saw mysel' they did pursue 

The hortjemen back to Forth, man ; 
Ajid at Dunblane, in my ain sight, 

' Ditch. - Noise of blows. ' Clouds. 

♦ Clothes. * Grasped at. « Bo<ly. 

' Fated to die. * Trousers. * Doves 



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TOUNQ JOCKEY. 331 

They took the brig ' \vi' a' their might. 
And straught to Stiding winged their flight 
But, cursed lot ! the gates were shut ; 
And mouy a hiintit, poor red-coat 
For fear amaist did swart',"'' man ! " 

My sister Kate cam' up the gate 

Wi' crowdie ^ unto me, man ; 
She swore she saw some rebels ran 

Frae Perth unto Dundee, man : 
Their left-hand general had nae skill. 
The Angus lads had nae good will 
That day their neebors' blude to spill ; 
For fear by foes that they should Lisc 
Their cogs o' brose, they scared at bk-wg^ 

And hameward fast did flee, man. 

They 've lost some gallant gentlemen 

Amang the Highland clans, man ; 
I fear my Lord Paumure is slain. 

Or in his en'mies' hands, man : 
Now, wad ye sing this double tight, 
Some fell for wrang, and some for righfcj 
And mony bade the warld guid- night; 
•Say pell, and mell, wi' muskets' knell. 
How Tories fell, and Whigs to hell 

Mew off in frighted bands, man. 



YOUNG JOCKEY. 

Tune — "Young Jockey." 

Young Jockey was the blithest lad 

In a' our town or here awa' : 
Fu' blithe he whistled at the gaud,* 

Fu' lightly danced he in the ha'. 
He roosed ^ my een, sae bounie blue, 

He roosed my waist, sae genty sma', 
And aye my heart came to my mou' 

When ne'er a body heard or saw. 

My Jockey toils upon the plain, 

Through wind and weet, through frost and snaWi 
And o'er the lea I leuk fu' fain, 

When Jockey's owsen® hameward ca'. 

Bridge. ^ Swoon. * Oatmeal porridge. 

Plough. ■' Praised. ® Oxen. 



njl_ 



J32 0, WriLlE BREWED A PECK 0' MAUT. 

An' aye the niglit comes round again, 
When in his arms he tak's me a', 

An' aye he vows he '11 be my ain, 
As lang *s he has a breath to draw. 



0, WILLIE BEEWED A PECK 0' MAUT. 
Tune — *' Willie brewed a peck o' maut." 

O, Willie ' brewed a peck o' maut, 
And Rob ^ and Allan ^ cam' to see ; 

Three blither hearts, that lee lang night. 
Ye wad na find in Ohristendie. 

CilOBUS. 

We are na fou, we're nae that fou, 
But just a drappie in our e'e; 

The cock may craw, the day may daw*. 
And ay we'll taste the barley bree. 

Here are we met, three merry boys, 
I'hree merry boys, I trow, are we; 

And mony a night we 've merry been. 
And mony mae we hope to be ! 

II is the moon— I ken her hora, 
That's blinkin' in the lift sae hie ; 

She shines sae bright to wyle us hame. 
But, by my sooth, she '11 wait a wee 1 

Wha first shall rise to gang awa', 

A cuckold, coward loon is he ! 
Wha last beside his chair shall fa'. 
He is the king amang ns three! 
We are na fou, we're nae that fou, 

But just a drappie in our e'e ; 
The cock may craw, the day may daw'. 
And ay we '11 taste the barley bree. 



THE BATTLE OF KILLIECEANKIB. 
Tune — " Killiecrankie. '" 

WnARE ha'e ye been sae braw, lad ? 

Whare ha'e ye been sae bankie, O ? 
O, whare ha'e ye been sae braw, ladP 

Cam' ye by Killiecrankie, ? 

' William Nicol. * Burni 

• Allan Masteiton, who composed the air. 



THE BLUE-EYED LASS. 333 

An' ye had been whare I ha'e been, 

Ye wad na been sae cantie, O ; 
An' ye had seen what I ha'e seen, 

On the braes o' Killiecraukie, O. 

I fought at land, I fought at sea ; 

At hame I fought my auntie, ; 
But I met the Devil an' Dundee ' 

On the braes o' Killiecraukie, 0. 
The bauld Pitcur fell in a furr. 

An' Clavers got a clankie, ; 
Or I had fed an Athole gled 

On the braes o' Killiecraukie, O. 



THE BLUE-EYED LASS.» 
Air — "The Blue-eyed Lass." 

I GAED a waefu' gate yestreen, 

A gate, I fear, I dearly rue ; 
I gat my death frae twa sweet een, 

Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue. 
'Twas not her golden ringlets bright; 

Her lips, like roses, wet wi' dew ; 
Her heaving bosom, hly-white — 

It was her een sae bonnie blue. 

She talked, she smiled, my heart she wyled { 

She charmed my soul — I wist na how ; 
And aye the stound, the deadly wound, 

Came frae her een sae bonnie blue. 
But spare to speak, and spare to speed ; 

She'll aibhns listen to my vow : 
Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead 

To her twa een so bonnie blue. 



THE BAITKS OF KITH. 
Tune — " Robie donna Goracli." 

The Thames flows proudly to the sea, 
Where royal cities stately stand; 

But sweeter flows the Nith, to me, 

Where Cummins ance had high command : 

' The gallant Claverhouse, Viscount Dundee, who fell at the battle of 
Killiecrankie. With him perished the cause of the Stuarts. He fell just 
as he had gained the victory. 

* Jean Jeffery, one of the daughters of the minister of Lochmabau. 



(p 



334 TAM GLEN". 

When shall I see that honoured land, 
That winding stream I love so dear! 

Must wayward Fortune's adverse hand 
For ever, ever keep me here ? 

How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales, 

Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom I 
How sweetly wind thy sloping dales, 

Where lamblcins wanton through the broom i 
Though wandering now must be my doom, 

Far from thy bonnie banks and braes, 
May there my latest hours consume, 

Amang the friends of early days I 



TAM GLEK 
Tune— "Tam Glen." 

My heart is a-breaking dear Tittie ! 

Some counsel unto me come len'; 
To anger them a' is a pity, 

But what will I do wi' Tam Glen p 

I'm thinking wi' sic a braw fallow. 
In poortith ' I might mak' a fen' ; * 

What care I in riches to wallow. 
If I maun marry Tam Glen ? 

There's Lowrie, the laird o' Drumeller, 

" Guid day to you, brute ! " he comes benj' 

He brags and he blaws o' his siller, — 
But when will he dance like Tam Glen ? . 

My minnie * does constantly deave * me, 
And bids me bewai'e o' young men ; 

They flatter, she says, to deceive me, — 
But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen? 

My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him, 
He'll gi'e me guid hunder marks ten ; 

But if it's ordained I maun take him, 
O wha will I get but Tam Glen ? 

Yestreen at the Valentine's dealing 
My heart to my mou' gied a sten;' 

For thrice I drew ane without failing, 
And thrice it was written — Tam Glen. 

Poverty. ^ Shift. ^ Into the parlonr. 

Mother. * Deafen. ^ Leap. 



FRAE THE FRIENDS AND LAND I LOVE. 335 

The last Halloween I lay waukin ' 

My droukit sark-sleeve,* as ye ken ; 
His likeness cam' up the honse staukin, 

And the very grey breeks o' Tarn Glen 1 

Come, counsel, dear Tittie ! don't tarry ^ 

I'll gi'e you my bonnie black hen, 
Gif ye will advise me to marry 

The lad I lo'e dearly. Tarn Glen. 



FEAE THE FRIENDS AND LAND I LOVE. 

Air — "Carron Side." 

Frae the friends and land I love, 

Driven by Fortune's felly spite, 
Frae my best beloved I rove, 

Never mair to taste delight ; 
Never mair maun hope to find, 

Ease frae toil, relief frae care ; 
When remembrance wracks the mini. 

Pleasures but unveil despair. 

Brightest climes shall mirk apjiear. 

Desert ilka blooming shore, 
Till the Fates, nae mair severe, 

Friendship, love, and peace restore; 
Till Revenge, wi' laurelled head. 

Bring our banished hame again; 
And ilka loyal bonnie lad 

Cross the seas an win* his ain. 



SWEET CLOSES THE EVENING.* 
Tune — "Craigie-burn-wood." 

Sweet closes the evening on Craigie-bum-wood, 

And blithely awaukens the morrow ; 
But the pride of the spring in the Craigie-biirn-wood 

Can yield to me nothing but sorrow. 

* Watching. '•' Wet shift-sleeve. 

' This song was composed in honour of Jean Lorimer, the "Chloris" 
of the poems. 



a 



=* 



3Sio CVM£!, REDE MB, DAME. 



Beyond thee, dearie, beyond tliee, dearie. 
And oh, to be lying beyond thee ! 

Oh, sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleep 
That 's laid in the bed beyond thee ! 

I see the spreading leaves and flowers, 

I hear the wild birds singmg ; 
But pleasure they ha'e nane for me 

While oare my heart is wringing. 

I canna tell, I mauna tell, 

I darena for your anger 
But secret love will break my heart 

If I conceal it langer. 

I see thee gracefa', straight, and tall, 

1 see thee sweet and bonnie ; 
But oh, what will my torments be 

If thou refuse thy Johnnie ! 

To see thee in anither's arms. 

In love to lie and languish, 
'T'<'^d be my dead, that will be seen* 

My heart wad burst wi' anguish. 

But, Jeanie, say thou wilt be mine, 

Say, thou lo'es nane before me ; 
And a' my days o' life to come 

I '11 gratefully adore thee. 

-Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, dearie^ 
And oh, to be lying beyond thee ! 

Oh, sweetly, soundly, weel may he sleep 
That 's laid in the bed beyond thee 1 



COME, REDE ME, DAME. 

Come, rede ' me, dame, come, tell me, dame^ 

And none can tell mair truly, 
"What colour maun the man be of 

To love a woman duly ? 

The carlin * cew baith up and down. 
And leugh, and answered ready, — • 

I learned a song in Annandale, 
A dark man for my lady. 

' Advise. ' Old woman. 



r 



^-- - — — .M ! 

COCK UP YOUR BEAVER. 337 

But for a country quean like thee. 

Young lass, I tell thee fairly, 
That wi' the white I 've made a shift, 

And brown will do fu' rarely. 

There 's mickle love in raven locks, 

The flaxen ne'er grows youden ; ' 
There 's kiss and hause * me in the browa, 

And glory in the gowdetn. 



COCK UP YOUR BEAVER. 
Tune — "Cock up your beaver." 

When first my brave Johnnie lad 

Came to this town. 
He had a blue bonnet 

That wanted the crown ; 
But now he has gotten 

A hat and a feather, — 
Eejs brave Johnnie lad, 

Cock up your beaver ! 

Cock up your beaver, 

And cock it fu' sprush, 
Vv'^e '11 over the border 

And gi'e them a brush ; 
There 's somebody there 

We '11 teach better behaviour, — 
Hey, brave Johnnie lad, 

Cock up your beaver ! 



MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL. 

Tune — " My tocher 's the jewel." 

O MEiKLE thinks my luve o' my beauty. 

And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin ; 
But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie 

My tocher's ^ the jewel has charms for him. 
It 's a' for the apple he '11 nourish the tree ; 

It 's a' for the hiney ^ he '11 cherish the bee ; 
My laddie 's sae meikle iu luve wi' the siller, 

He canna ha'e luve to spare for me. 

' Qxey. ^ Hug. * Dowry. * Honej 

n 



£03 GU ID WIFE, COUNT THE LAWm. 

Your profFer o' luve 's an airl-penny,* 

My tocliei' 's the bargain ye wad buy ; 
Bat an ye be crp.fty, I am cunnin', 

Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun biy. 
Ye 're like to the tiramer o' yon rotten wood, 

Ye 're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree, 
Yo '11 slip frae me like a knot] ess thread, 

And ye '11 crack your credit wi' mae nor me. 



GUIDWIFB, COUNT THE LAWIN. 

Tune — " Guidwife, count the lawin." 

Gane is the day, and mirk 's the night. 
But we'll ne'er stray for fau't o' light, 
For ale and brandy 's stars and moon, 
And blude-red wine 's the rising sun . 

Then, guidwife, count the lawin, 

The lawin, the lawin. 
Then, guidwife, count the lawin, 

And bring a coggie mair ! 

There's wealth and ease for gentlemen. 
And sem pie-folk maun fecht and fen' ; 
But here we 're a' in ae accord. 
For ilka man that 's drunk 's a lord. 

M.f coggie is a haly pool 
That heals the wounds o' care and dool; 
And pleasure is a wanton trout, 
An' ye drink but deep ye'U lind him out. 
Then, guidv.rife, count the lawin, 

The lawin, the lawin ; 
Then, guidwife, couat the lawin. 
And bring a coggie mair ! 



THE BONNIE LAD THAT'S FAR AWA'. 

Tuue— **Owre the hills and far awa'." 

O HOW can I be blithe und glad, 
Or how can I gaug lirisk and \i'.\vf. 

When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best 
Is o'er the hills and far awa' ? 

When the bonnie lad that T lo'e best 
Is o'er the hills and far awa' ? 

i A silver penny, given as hiring-inouey. 



Jl- 



I DO COjVFESS thou ART SAE FAIR. 339 

It 's no the frosty winter wind, 

It 's no the driving drift and snaw ; 

But aye the tear comes in my e'e, 
To think on him that 's far awa' ; 

Bnt aye the tear comes in my e'e, 
To think on him that 's far awa'. 

My father pat me frae his door, 

My friends they ha'e disowned me a', 

But I ha'e ane will tak' my part. 
The bonnie lad that 's far awa' -, 

But I ha'e ane will tak' my part,— 
The bonnie lad that 's far awa'. 

A pair o' gloves he bought for me, 
And silken snoods ' he ga'e me twa ; 

And I will wear them for his sake, 
The bonnie lad that 's far awa' ; 

And I will wear them for his sake, — 
The bonnie lad that 's far awa*. 

O, weary winter soon will pass. 

And spring will deed the birken-s-;haw; 

And my young babie will be born, 
And he '11 be hame that 's far awa' ; 

And my young babie will be born. 
And he '11 be hame that 's far awa'. 



I DO CONFESS THOU AET SAE EAIR. 
Tune — " I do confess thou art sae fair." 

I DO confess thou art sae fair, 

I wad been o'er the lugs in luve. 
Had I na found the slightest prayer 

That lips could speak thy heart could muve 
I do confess thee svreet, but find 

Thou art sae thriftless o' thy sweets, 
Thy favours are the silly wind. 

That kisses ilka thing it meets. 

See yonder rosebud, rich in dew, 

Amang its native briers sae coy; 
How sune it tines '^ its scent a.nd hue 

When pu'd a,nd worn a coninion toy! 
Sic fate, ere lang, shall thee betide, 

Though thou may gaily bloom awhile j 
Yet sune thou shalt be thrown aside 

Like ony common weed and vile. 

* Eibbons for binding the hair, ' Loses, 



n 



340 



YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS. 

Tune — " Yon wild mossy mountains." |h| 

I 

Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty and wide, 

That nurse in their bosom the youth o' the Clyde, 

Where the grouse lead their coveys through the heather "to 

feed, 
And the shepherd tents his flock a;S he pipes on his reed. 
Where the grouse lead their coveys through the heath© b» 

feed, 
And the shepherd tents his flock as he pipes on his reed. 

Not Gowrie's rich valleys, nor Fr Hh's sunny shores, 
To me ha'e the charms o' yon wild mossy moors. 
For there, by a lanely, sequestered clear stream. 
Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream. 
For there, by a lanely, sequestered clear stream, 
Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream. 

Amang thae wild mountains shall still be my path. 
Ilk stream foaming down its ain green narrow strath; 
For there, wi' my lassie, the day -Ian g I rove. 
While o'er us, unheeded, flee the swift hours o' love. 
For there, wi' my lassie, the day-lang I rove. 
While o'er us, unheeded, flee the swift hours o' love. 

She is not the fairest, although she is fair ; 
O' nice education but sraa' is her share; 
Her parentage humble as humble can be ; 
But I lo'e the dear lassie because she lo'es me. 
Her parentage humble as humble can be, 
But I lo'e the dear lassie because she lo'es me. 

To beauty what man but maun yield him a prize, 
In her armour of glances, and blushes, and sighs? 
And when wit and refinement ha'o polished her darts. 
They dazzle our een as they flee to our hearts. 
And when wit and refinement ha'e polished her darts, 
They dazzle our een as they flee to our hearts. 

But kindness, sweet kindness, in the fond sparkling e'e, 

Has lustre outshining the diamond to me; 

And the heart-beating love, as I'm clasped in her arms, 

0, these are my lassie's all- conquering charms ! 

And the heai-t-beating love, as I'm clasped in her anna, 

Q, these are my laii^ie's aliconqueying charms ! 



341 

IT IS NA, JEAN, THT BOTmiE FACE. 
Tune — " The Maid's Complaint." 

It is na, Jean, thy bonnie face. 

Nor shape, that I admire, 
Although thy beanty and thy grace 

Might weel awake desire. 
Something, in ilka part o' thee, 

To praise, to love I find ; 
But, dear as is thy form to me. 

Still dearer is thy mind. 

Nae mair ungenerous wish I ha"e. 

Nor stronger in my breast. 
Than if I canna mak' thee sae, 

At least to see thee blest. 
Content am I, if Heaven shall give 

But happiness to thee : 
And as wi' thee I 'd wish to livs, 

For thee I 'd bear to die. 



O SAW YE MY DEAEIEP 

Tune—" Eppie M'Nab.'" 

O, SAW ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab ? 
O, saw ye my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab ? 
She 's down in the yard, she 's kissin' the laird. 
She winna come hame to her ain Jock Eab. 
O, come thy ways to me, my Eppie M'Nab ! 
0, come thy ways to me, my Eppie M'Nab ! 
Whate'er thou hast done, be it late, be it soon, 
Thou's welcome again to thy ain Jock Rab. 

"What says she, my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab P 
What says she, my dearie, my Eppie M'Nab ? 
She lets thee to wit that she has thee forgot, 
And for ever disowns thee, her ain Jock Rab. 
O, had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M'Nab ! 
O, had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie M'Nab ! 
As light as the air, as fause as thou's fair, 
Thou's broken the heart o' thy ain Jock Eab. 



342 



WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWEE DOOEP 
Tune — " Lass, an' I come near thee." 

WiiA is that at my bower door? — 

O, wha is it but Findlay P 
Then gae yere gate, ye'se nae be here ! — 

Indeed maun I, quo' Findlay. 
What mak' ye sae hke a thief? — 

0, come and see, quo' Findky ; 
Before the morn ye '11 work mischief — 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 

Gif I rise and let you in ? — 

Let me in, quo' Findlay ; 
Ye '11 keep me waukin wi' your din — 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
In my bower if ye should stay ?— 

Let me stay, quo' Findlay ; 
I fear ye '11 bide till break o' day, — 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 

Here this night if ye remain, — 

I '11 remain, quo' Findlay. 
I dread ye '11 ken the gate again, — 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
What may pass within this bov, cr, — 

Let it pass, quo' Findlay. 
Ye maun conceal till your last hour, — 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 



WHAT CAN A YOUI^G LASSIE DO ? 
Tune — " Wliat can a young lassie do wi' an aiild man 

What can a young lassie, what shall a young lassie, 
What can a young lassie do wi' an auld ; \an.P 

Bad luck on the pennie that tempted my minuie* 
To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' Ian' ! 
Bad luck on the pennie, &c. 

He 's always compleenin' frae mornin' to e'enin', 
He hosts * and he hirples * the weary day lang ; 

He 's doyrf* and he 's dozin,* his bluid it is frozen, — 
0, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man ! 
He 's doyl't and he 's dozin', &c. 

]\1 other. ^ Coughs. • Limpa. 

Crazed. * l>enum])ed. 



JC 



THE BONNIE WEE THTNO. 343 

He hums and he hankers, he frets and he cankers; 

I never can please him, do a' that I can ; 
He's peevish and jealous of a' the young fellows : 

0, dool ' on the day I met wi' an auld man ! 
He's peevish and jealous, &c. 

My auld auntie Katie upon me tak's pity, 
I '11 do my endeavour to follow her plan ! 

I 'U cross him, and wrack him, until I heartbreak bim, 
And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan. 
I '11 cross him, and wrack him, &c 



THE BONNIE WEE THING.' 
Tune — " Bonnie wee thing." 

Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing, 

Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, 
I wad wear thee in my bosom, 

Lest my jewel I should tine.^ 
Wishfully I look and languish, 

In that bonnie face o' thine ; 
And my heart it stounds wi' anguish. 

Lest my wee thing be na mine. 

Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty, 

In ae constellation shine ; 
To adore thee is my duty, 

Goddess o' this soul o' mine ! 
Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing, 

Lovely wee thing, wert thou min^ 
I wad wear thee in my bosom. 

Lest my jewel I should tine 1 



THE TITHER MOEN 
To a Highland air. 

The tither morn, 

When I forlorn, 
Aneath an aik sat moaning, 

I did na trow 

I 'd see my jo 
Beside me, gain the gloaming. 
' "Woe. 

* " Composed," say.s the Poet, *' on my little idol, ihe charmingj 
lovely Davies." 

* Lose. 



344 AE FOND KISS. 

But he sae trig 

Lap o'er the rig, 
And dawtingly did cheer me, 

When I, what reck, 

Did least expec' 
To see my lad sae near me. 

His bonnet he, 

A thought ajee, 
Cocked sprush when first he clasped nu' 

And I, I wat, 

Wi' faiiiness grat, 
While in his grips he pressed me. 

De'il tak' the war ! 

I late and air 
Hae wished since Jock departed ; 

But now as glad 

I 'm wi' my lad 
As short syne broken-hearted. 

Fu' aft at e'en 

Wi' dancing keen, 
When a' were blithe and merry, 

I cared na by, 

Sae sad was I 
In absence o' my dearie. 

But, praise be blest. 

My mind's at rest, 
I 'm happy wi' my Johnny ; 

At kirk and fair, 

I'se aye be there, 
illnd be as canty 's ony. 



AE FOND KISS.* 
Tune— "Rory Doll's Port." 

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ; 
Ae fareweel, and then, for ever ! 
Deep in heart-wrung teirs I'll pledge theo, 
Wiirring sighs and groiins I'll waue thee. 
Who shall say that Fortune grieves him, 
While the stcir of hope she leaves him ? 
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle liglits me ; 
Dark despair around benights me. 

* The heroine of this song was Clarinda, 



LOVELY DA VIES. 34R 

I '11 ne'er blame my partial fancy, 
Naething could resist my Naucy ; 
But to see her was to love her ; 
Love but her, and love for ever. 
Had we never loved sae kindly. 
Had we never loved sae bliudly, 
Never met — or never parted, 
We had ne'er been broken-hearted. 

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest ! 
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest ! 
Thine be ilka joy and treasure. 
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure ! 
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever ; 
Ae farewell, alas ! for ever ! 
Deep in heart- wrung tears I '11 pledge thee, 
Warring sighs and groans I '11 wage thee i 



LOVELY DAVIE S.» 
Tune— ' ' Miss Muir." 

HOW shall I, unskilfu', try 

The poet's occupation. 
The tuuefu' powers, in happy houra, 

That whispers inspiration ? 
Even they maun dare an effort muir 

Than aught they ever gave us. 
Or they rehearse, in equal verse, 

The charms o' lovely Davies. 

Each eye it cheers, when she appears. 

Like Phoebus in the morning. 
When past the shower, and every flower 

The garden is adorning. 
As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's shore, 

When winter-bound the wave is ; 
Sae droops our heart when we maun part 

Frae charming, lovely Davies. 

Her smile's a gift, frae 'boon the lift, 

That niak's us mail* than princes ; 
A sceptred hand, a king's command, 

Is in her darting glances : 
The man in arms 'gainst female charms 

Even he her willing slave is; 
He hugs his chain, and owns the reign 

Of conquering, lovely Davies. 

^ Xbe berojne of "The Bourne Wee Thing." 



r 



316 THE WEARY FUND 0' TOW. 

Ivly muse to dream of such a theme, 

Her feeble powers surrender; 
The eagle's gaze alone surveys 

The sun's meridian splendour: 
I wad in vain essay the strain, — 

The deed too daring brave is ; 
I '11 drap the lyre, and mute admire 

The charms o' lovely Davies. 



THE WEARY FUND 0' TOW, 
Tune — " The weary pund o' tow," 

I BOUGHT my wife a stane o' lint ' 

As gude as e'er did grow ; 
And a' that she has made o' tha'. 

Id ae poor pund o' tow.'' 

CHORUS. 

The weary pund, the weary ]^.und, 

The weary pund o' tow ; 
I ihiiik my wife will end her life 

Before she spin her tow. 

There sat a bottle in a bole, 

Beyont the ingle low,' 
And aye she took the tither souk,* 

To drouk * the stowrie * tow. 

Quoth I, For shame, ye dirty diime, 

Gae spin your tap o' tow ! 
She took the rock, and wi' a knock 

She brak' it o'er my pow. 

At last her feet — I sang to see't — 
Gaed foremost o'er the knowe ; ' 

And or I wad anitlier jad, 
I 'U wallop in a tow* 

The weary pund, the weary pund, 

The weary pund o' tow ! 
I think my wife will end her life 

Before she spin her tow. 

* Plnx. ' Flax prepared for use. 

' Flame of the fire. * Swig. * Wet. 

* Dusty. ' Hillock. ' Swing in a ropei. 



347 



BANKS OF CEEB. 

Here is the glen, and liere the bower, 
All underneath the birchen shade ; 

The village bell has told the hiuir, — 
O, what can stay my lovely maid ? 

'Tis not Maria's whispering call ; 

'Tis but the balmy-breathing gale, 
Mixt with some warbler's dying fall. 

The dewy star of eve to hail. 



It is Maria's voice I hear ! 

So calls the woodlark in the grove. 
His httle faithful mate to cheer, 

At once 'tis music — and 'tis love. 

And art thou come ! and art thou true !• 
0, welcome dear to love and me ! 

And let us all our vows renew, 
Along the flowery banks of Cree. 



BEHOLD THE HOUE. 
Tune — " Oran-gaoil." 

Behold the hour, the boat arrive ; 

Thou g(jest, thou darling of my heart 
Severed from thee can I survive ? 

But Fate has willed, and we must part, 
I'll often greet this surging swell, 

Yon distant isle will often hail : 
" E'en here I took the last farewell ; 

There latest marked her vanished sail." 

Along the solitary shore, 

While flitting sea-fowl round me cry, 
Across the rolling, dashing roar, 

I'll westward turn my wistful eye : 
Happy, thou Indian grove, I '11 say, 

Where now my Nancy's path may be ! 
WLile through thy sweets she loves to stray, 

O, teU me, does she muse on me ? 



348 

LOGAN BRAES. 

Tune—" Logan Water." 

I.06AN, sweetly didst thou glide. 
That day I was my Willie's bride ; 
And years sinsyne ha'e o'er us run. 
Like Logan to the simmer sun. 
But now thy flowery banks appear 
Like di'umlie winter, dark and dr.-ar, 
While my dear lad maun face his faes. 
Far, far frae me and Logan braes. 

Again the merry month o' May 

Has made our hills and valleys gay ; 

The birds rejoice in leafy bowers. 

The bees hum round the breathing flowers ; 

Blithe Morning lifLs his rosy eye. 

And Evening's tears are tears of joy ; 

My soul, delightless, a' surveys. 

While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 

Within yon milk-white hawthorn bixsh, 
Amang her nestlings sits the thrush; 
Her faithfu' mate will share her toil, 
Or wi' his song her cares beguile : 
But I wi' my sweet nurslings here, 
Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer, 
Pass widowed nights and joyless days 
While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 

O, wae upon you, men o' state, 
That brethren rouse to deadly hate ! 
As ye make mony a fond heart mourn, 
Sae may it on your heads return ! 
How can your flinty hearts enjoy 
The widow's tears, the orphan's cry ? 
But soon may peace bring happy days, 
And Willie hame to Logan braes ! 



O, POOllTITH CAULD AND RESTLESS LOVE!' 
Tune — " I bad a horse." 

O, PooRTiTH '^ cauld and restless love ! 

Ye wreck my peace between ye ; 
Yet poortith a' I could forgive. 
An' 'twere na for my Jeanie. 
The heroine of this beautiful song was Jeaoi Lorimer, of K.©auni8 Hall, 
in Kirkmahoe. 
• Poverty, 



dlj 



llJ 

GALLA WATER. 349 

0, why shotild Fate sic pleasure have 

Life's dearest bauds uutwining ? 
Or why sae sweet a flower as love 

Depend on Fortune's shining ? 

This warld's wealth when I think en 

Its pride, and a' the lave o't ; 
Fie, fie on silly coward man, 

That he should be the slave o't. 
O, why, &c. 

Her een sae bonnie blue betray 

How she repays my passion ; 
But prudence is her o'erword aye, 

She talks of rank and fashion. 
O, why, &c. 

O, wha can prudence think upon, 

And sic a lassie by him ? 
0, wha can prudence think upon. 

And sae in love as I am ? 
0, why, &c. 

How blest the humble cotter's fate ! 

He woos his simple dearie ; 
The sUlie bogles,' wealth and state. 

Can never make them eerie.' 
O, why should Fate sic pleasure have 

Life's dearest bands untwining ? 
Or why so sweet a flower as love 

Depend on Fortune's shining? 



GALLA WATER. 

There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes, 
That wander through the blooming heatharj 

But Yarrow braes, nor Ettric shaws. 
Can match the lads o' Galla Water. 

But there is aue, a seci'et ane, 
Aboon them a' I lo'e him better; 

And I '11 be his, and he '11 he mine. 
The bonnie lad o' Galla Water. 

Although his daddie was nae laird. 

And though I ha'e nae meickle tocher;* 
Yet. rich in kindest, truest love. 

We '11 tent our flocks by Galla Water. 

EohgcblinR. * Frightened. ' Much dowry. 



c 



am LORD GREGORY. 

It ne'er was wealtli, it ne'er was wealth, 
Tha,t coft ' contentment, peace, or pleasure ; 

The bands and bliss o' mutual love, 
O, that 's the chiefest warld's treasure ! 



LORD GREGORY. 

O, MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour. 

And loud the tempest's roar ; 
A waefu' wanderer seeks ihy tower, 

Lord Gregory, ope' thy door. 

An exile frae her father's ha', 

And a' for loving thee ; 
At least some pity on me shaw, 

If love it may na be. 

Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the groye 

By bonnie Irwine side, 
Where first I owned that virgin-love 

I lang, lang had denied ? 

How often didst thou pledge and vow 

Thou wad for aye be mine ; 
And my fond heart, itsel' sae true, 

It ne'er mistrusted thine. 

Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, 

And flinty is thy breast : 
Thou dart of heaven that flashest by, 

0, wilt thou give me rest ! 

Ye mustering thunders from above, 

Your willing victim see ! 
But spare and pardon my fause love, 

Hia wrangs to heaven and me ! 



MARY MORISON, 



Tune — " Bide ye yet." 

Mauy, at thy window be. 

It is the wished, the trysted hour / 

Those smiles and glances let me see, 
That makes the miser's treasure poor> 

« Brought. 

* Thft song prefixed is one of my juvenile works. — BunifS. 



c 



WANDERING WILLIE, 351 

How blithely wad I bide the stoure.^ 

A weary slave frae sun to sun, 
Could I the rich reward secure — 

The lovely Mary Morison. 

Yestreen, when to the trembling string 

The dance gaed through the lighted ha'. 
To thee my fancy took its wing— 

I sat, but neither heard nor saw. 
Though this was fair, and that was braw, 

And you the toast of a' the town, 
I sighed, and said amang them a', 

" Ye are na Mary Morison." 

Mary, canst thou wreck his peace 

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ? 
Or canst thou break that heart of his, 

Whase only faut is loving thee ? 
If love for love tliou wilt na gi'e. 

At least be pity to me showa ; 
A th~ught ungentle canna be 

The thought o' Mary Morison. 



WANDERING WILLIE. 

Heke awa', there awa', wandering Willie, 

Now tired with wandering, baud awa' hame ; 

Come to my bosom, my ae only dearie, 

And tell me thou bring' st me my Willie the same. 

Loud blew the cauld winter winds at our parting ; 

It was nae the blast brought the tear in my e'e : 
Now welcome the simmer, and welcome my Willie, 

The simmer to Nature, my Willie to me. 

Ye hurricanes, rest in the cave o' your slumbers I 
0, how your wild horrors a lover alarms ! 

Awaken, ye breezes, row gently, ye billows. 

And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms ! 

•But if he 's forgotten his faithfullest Nanie, 

0, still flow between us, thou wide roaring main i 

May I never see it, may I never trow it, 

But dying beHeve that my Willie '? my ain ! 

' Past. 



362 



OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, OJ 

[with alterations.] 
Tune — " Open the door to me, I " 

O, OPEN the door, gome pity to show, 

O, open the door to me, ! 
Though thou hast been false, I '11 ever prove tniQ, 

O, open the door to me, ! 

Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek. 

But caulder thy love for me, O ! 
The frost that freezes the life at my heart 

Is nought to my pains frae thee, ! 

The wan moon is setting behind the white wave» 

And time is setting with me, ! 
False friends, false love, farewell ! for mair 

I '11 ne'er trouble th ^m nor thee, ! 

She has opened the door, she has opened it wide ; 

She sees his pale corse on the plain, ! 
My true love ! she cried, and sank down by his sidft 

Never to rise again, O ! 



YOUNG JESSIE.* 
Tune — " Bonnie Dundee." 

Trtje-heakted was he, the sad swain o' the Yarrow, 

And fair are the maids on the banks o' th:i Ayr, 
But by the sweet side of the Nith's winding liver 

Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair ; 
To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over ; 

To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain ; 
Grace, beauty, and elegance fetter her lover. 

And maidenly modesty fixes the chain. 

0, fresh is the rose in the gay dewy morning. 

And sweet is the lily at evening close ; 
But in the fair presence o' lovely young Jessie, 

Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose. 
Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring. 

Enthroned in her een he delivers his law : 
And stiU to her charms she alone is a stranger ! 

Her modest demeanour's the jewel of a'. 

' Jessie Staig, daughter of Provost Staig, of Dumfrie*. 

' ~ ^"^ ,L= 



353 

I HA'E A WIFE O' MY Allf. 
Tone— "Naebody." 

I ua'e a wife o' my ain — 

I '11 partake wi' naebody ; 
I '11 tak' cuckold frae naiie, 

I '11 gi'e cuckold to naebody. 
1 ba'e a penny to spend, 

There — thanks to naebody; 
I ha'e naething to lend — 

I 'II borrow frae naebody. 

I am naebody's lord — 
1 '11 be slave to naebody ; 

I ha'e a guid braid sword, 
I '11 tak' dunts frae naebody; 

I '11 be merry and free, 
I '11 be sad for naebody ; 

If naebody care for me, 
I 'U care for naebody. 



O, FOR ANB-Aiq"D- TWENTY, IA'aU 

Tune—" The Moudiewort," 

CHORITS. 

An' 0, for ane-and-twenty, Tarn ! 

An' hey, sweet ane-and-twenty, Jam 1 
I '11 learn my kin a rattlin' sang. 

An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam. 

They snooP me sair, and hand me down, 
And gar me look like bluntie,"'' Tam ; 

But three short years will soon wheel roua'— 
And then comes ane-and-twenty, Tam. 

A glieb o' Ian', a claut o' gear. 

Was left me by my auntie, Tam ; 
At kith or kin I need nae spier,'* 
An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam. 

They '11 ha'e me wed a wealthy coof,* 
Though I mysel' ha'e plenty, Tam ; 

But hear'f^t thou, laddie — there's my loot* — 
I 'm thine at ane-and-twenty, Tam. 

' Snub. * Miserable. Ask. 

* Fool. Hani 

' A A 



Jj"nl 



I 



364 0, KEN MU RE'S ON AND AWA\ 

An' O, for ane-and-twenty, Tarn ; 

An' liey, sweet ane-and-twenty, Taui 
I '11 learn my kin a rattlin' sang. 

An I saw ane-and-twenty. Tarn. 



O, KENMURE'S ON AND AWA'.» 
Tune — " 0, Kenmiire 's on and awa', Willie." 

0, Kenmube 's on and awa', Willie ! 

O, Kenmure's on and awa' ! 
And Kenmure's lord 's the bravest lord 

That ever Galloway saw. 

Success to Kenmure's band, Willie ! 

Success to Kenmiire's band ! 
There 's no a heart that fears a Whig 
That rides by Kenmure's hand. 

Here 's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie! 

Here 's Kenmure's health in wine ! 
There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's liludtJ} 

Nor yet o' Gordon's line. 

O, Kenmure's lads are men, Willie ! 

O, Kenmure's lads are men ! 
Their hearts and swords are metal true — 

And that their faes shall ken. 

They '11 live or die wi' fame, Willie 1 

They '11 live or die wi' fame : 
But soon, wi' sounding victoiy. 

May Kenmure's lord come hame ! 

Here 's him that 's far awa', Willie ! 

Here 's him that's far awa' ! 
And here 's the flower that I lo'e best— 

The rose that's like the snaw 1 



MY COLLIER LADDIE. 

Tune—" The Collier Laddie." 

O, WHEEE live ye, my bonnie lass P 
An' tell me what they ca' ye ? 

' This song refers to the gallant Viscount Kenmure, who fought for 
Prince Charles Edward in 1715, and perished on the scaffold. 



N!THSD ALE'S WELCOME HAME. 

My name, slie says, is ]\[istress Jean, 
And I follow the Collif^r Laddie— 

My naiBe, she says, is Mistress Jean, 
And I follow the Collier Laddie. 

O, see you not yon hills and dales 

The sun shines on sae brawlie ? 
They a' are mine, and they shall be thine. 

Gin ye leave your Collier Laddie — 
They a' are mine, they shall he tliine, 

Gin ye '11 leave your ColUer Laddie. 

And ye shall gang in gay attire, 

Weel buskit up sae gaudy ; 
And ane to wait at every hand. 

Gin ye '11 leave your Collier Lfvddie 
And ane to wait at every hand, 

Gin ye '11 leave your Collier LPvddie. 
Though ye had a' the sun shines on, 

And the earth conceals sae lovdy ; 
I wad turn my back on you and it a', 

And embrace my Collier Laddie—^ 
I wad turn my back on you and it a', 

And embrace my Collier Laddie. 

J can win my five pennies a day, 
And spend 't at night fu' brawlie ; 

And mak' my bed in the Collier's nonk, 
And lie down wi' my Collier Laddie — 

And mak' my bed in the Collier's neuk, 
And He down wi' my Collier Laddie. 

Idive for luve is the bargain for me. 
Though the wee cot-house should hand me ; 

And the warld before me to win my bread, 
And fair fa' my Collier Laddie — 

And the warld before me to win my bread, 
And fair fa' my Collier Laddie ! 



NITHSDALE'S WELCOME HAME. 
The noble Maxwells and the powers 

Are coming o'er the border. 
And they '11 gae big > Terreagle's towers, 

An' set them a' in order. 
And they declare Terreagle 's fair ; 

For their abode they choose it : 
There 's no a heart in a' the land 

But 's lighter at the news o't. 
' Build. 



166 AS 1 WAS A-WAND'Rma. 

TLougli stars in skies may disappear, 

And angry tempests gather; 
The happy hour may soon be near 

That brings us pleasant weather : 
The weary night o' care and grief 

May ha'e a joyfu' morrow; 
So dawning day has brought reliefs — 

Farewell our night o' sorrow ! 



AS I WAS A-WAND'RING. 
Tune — " Rinn M'eudial mo Mhealladh," — a Gaelic air. 

As I was a-wand'ring a midsummer e'enin', 

The pipers and youngsters were makin' their firame; 
Aniang them I spied my faithless fause lover, 

Which bled a' the wound o' my dolour again. 
Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi' him I 

I may be distressed, but I winna complain ; 
I '11 flatter my fancy I may git anither, — 

My heart it shall never be broken for ane. 

I couldna get sleeping till dawin for greetin'; 

The tears trickled down like the hail and the rain: 
Had I na got greetin',' my heart wad a broken, 

For, oh ! luve forsaken 's a tormenting pain ! 
Although he has left me for greed o' the siller, 

I dinna envy him the gains he can win ; 
I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my sorrow. 

Than ever ha'e acted sae faithless to him. 
Weel, since he has left me, may pleasure gae wi' liiiio, 

I may be distressed, but I wmna complain ; 
I '11 flatter my fancy I may git anither, — 

My heart it shall never be broken for ane. 



BESS AND HER SPINNING-WHEEL. 
Tune—" The sweet lass that lo'es me." 

O, LEEZE me ^ on my spinning-wheel. 
And leeze me on my rock and I'eel ; 
Fra tap to tae that deeds me bien,^ 
And haps me fiel ■• and warm at e'en ! 

' Weeping. ^ bless my spinning-wheel, "I love my spinuiiig-wheel.' 
' Clads me well. * Wraps me soft. 



r 



THE POSIE. 357 

I'll set me down and sing and spin, 
While laigh ' descends the simmer sun, 
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal — 
O, leeze me on my spinning-wheel ! 

On ilka ha,nd the burnies trot. 
And meet below my theekit "^ cot ; 
The scented birk and hawthorn whit© 
Across the pool their arms unite, 
Alike to screen the birdie's nest 
And httle fishes caller rest : 
The sun blinks kindly in the biel','* 
Where blithe I turn my spinning-wheeL 

On lofty aiks the cushats wail, 
And echo cons the doolfu' tale ; 
The lintwhites ■* in the hazel braes, 
Delighted, rival ither's lays : 
The craik* amang the clover hay. 
The paitrick ^ whirrin' o'er the ley, 
The swallow jinkin' ^ round my shiel,^ 
Amuse me at my spinning-wheel. 

Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy, 
Aboon distress, below envy, 
0, wha wad leave this humble state 
For a' the pride of a' the great ? 
Amid their flaring, idle toys, 
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys. 
Can they the peace and pleasure feel 
Of Bessy at her spinning-wheel ? 



THE POSIE. 

O, LTTVE will venture in where it daur na weel be seen, 
O, luve Will venture in where wisdom ance has been ; 
But I will down yon river rove, amang the wood sae green, 
And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May. 

The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year. 
And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear. 
For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms without a peer; 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

' Low. * Thatched. 8 Nook, 

* Linnets. 5 Corn rail. ^ Partridse. 

= Dodgmg. 8 stjg^_ 



1 



358 COUNTRY LASSIE. 

I '11 pu' the budding rose, when PhcBbus peeps in view, 
For it 's like a banmy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou'; 
The hyacinth 's for constancy, wi' its unchanging blue, 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair. 
And in her lovely bosom I '11 place the lily there; 
The daisy 's for simplicity and unaffected air, 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

The hawthorn I will pu', wi' its locks o' siller grey, 
Where, like an aged man, it stands at break o' day ; 
But the songster's nest within the bush I winna take away ; 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is near. 
And the diamond-draps o' dew shall be her een sae clear; 
The violet 's for modesty, which weel she fa's to wear, 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

I'll tie the posie round wi' the silken band o' luve, 
And I '11 place it in her breast, and I '11 swear by a' above. 
That to my latest draught o' life the band shall ne'er remove. 
And this will be a posie to my ain dear May. 



COUNTEY LASSIE. 

In simmer, when the hay was mawn, 

And corn waved green in ilka field, 
While claver blooms white o'er the lea. 

And roses blaw in ilka bield ; ' 
Blithe Bessie, in the milking shiel,"'* 

Says, I '11 be wed, come o't what will : 
Out spak' a dame, in wrinkled eild, 

O' guid advisement comes nae ill. 

It 's ye ha'e wooers mony ane. 

And, lassie, ye 're but young, ye ken ; 
Then wait a wee, and cannie wale,' 

A routhie butt, a routhie ben * 
There 's Johnnie o' the Buskie-glen, 

Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre ; 
Tak' this frae me, my bonnie hen, 

It 's plenty beets '" the Inver's fire. 

» Nook. 2 Sbed. ^ Wisely chooB*. 

* A plentiful back and front to the house. * Feeds. 



FAIR ELIZA. 359 

For Johnnie o' the Buskie-glen, 

I dinna care a single flie ; 
He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye, 

He has nae luve to spare for me : 
But blithe 's the blink o' Eobie's e'e, 

And weel I wat he lo'es me dear ; 
\b blink o' him I wad nae gi'e 

For Buskie-glen and a' his gear. 

0, thoughtless lassie, life 's a faught_; * 

The canniest gate,^ the strife is sair; 
But aye fii' han't is fechtin best, 

A hungry care 's an unco care : 
But some will spend, and some will spare, 

An' wilfu' folk maun ha'e their will ; 
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair. 

Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill.* 

O, gear will buy me rigs o' land, 

And gear will buy me sheep and kye ; 
But the tender heart o' leesome * luve. 

The gowd and siller canna buy. 
We may be poor — Robie and I ; 

Light is the burden luve lays on ; 
Content and luve bring peace and joy, — 

What mair ha'e queens upon a throne P 



FAIE ELIZA. 

[a GAELIC AIR.] 

Then again, thou fair Eliza, 

Ae kind blink before we part, 
Bew * on thy despairing lover ! 

Canst thou break his faithfu' heart P 
Turn again, thou fair Eliza ; 

If to love thy heart denies, 
For pity hide the cruel sentence 

Under friendship's kind disguise ! 

Thee, dear maid, ha'e I offended P 

The offence is loving thee : 
Canst thou wreck his peace for ever, 

Wha for thine would gladly die? 

* Strife. ' Best road. » Al* 

* Gladsome. * Take pity. 



D 



360 YE JACOBITES BY NAME, 

While the life beats in my bosom, 
Thou shalt mix in ilka thioe : 

Turn again, thou lovely maiden, 
Ae sweet smile on me bestow. 

Not the bee upon the blossom, 

In the pride o' sinny noon ; 
Not the little sporting fairy, 

All beneath the simmer moon ; 
Not the poet in the moment 

Fancy lightens on his e'e, 
Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture 

That thy presence gi'es to me. 



YE JACOBITES BY NAME. 

Tune — " Ye Jacobites by name.' 

Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, give an ear; 
Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear ; 
Ye Jacobites by name. 
Your fautes I wUl proclaim, 
Your doctrines I maun blame — 
You shall hear. 

What is right, and what is wrang, by the 5aw, by the Kw; 
What is right, and what is wrang, by the law? 
What is right, and what is wrang ? 
A short sword, and a lang, 
A weak arm, and a Strang 
For to draw. 

Wliat makes heroic strife famed afar, fame^ afar ? 
What makes heroic strife famed afar ? 
What makes heroic strife ? 
To whet th' assassin's knife. 
Or hunt a parent's hfe 
Wi' bludie war. 

Then let your schemes alone in the state, in the b^tuie^ 
Then let your schemes alone in the state . 
Then let your schemes alone. 
Adore the rising sun. 
And leave a man undone 
To his fate. 



TIT 



361 

THE BAITKS OF DOON.» 

[fikst version.] 

Ye flowery banks o' bonnie Boon, 

How can ye bloom sae fair; 
How can ye cbant, ye little birds, 

And I sae fu' o' care P 

Thou '11 break my heart, tbou bonnie bird 

That sings upon the laough ; 
Thou minds me o' the happy days 

When my fanse luve was true. 

Thou '11 break my heart, thou bonnie bi.d. 

That sings beside thy mate ; 
For sae I sat, and sae I sang, 

And wist na o' my fate. 

Oft ha'e I roved by bonnie Doon, 

To see the woodbine twine, 
And ilka bird sang o' its love; 

And sae did I o' mine. 

"Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose 

Frae off its thorny tree ; 
And my fause luver staw the rose. 

But left the thorn wi' me. 



THE BANKS 0' DOON. 

[second vebsion.] 

Tune — " Caledonian Hunt's Delight." 

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, 

How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ; 
How can ye chant, ye little birds, 

And I sae weary, fu' o' care ? 
Thou '11 break my heart, thou warblmg bird, 

'I'hat wantons through the flowering thorn; 
Thou minds me o' departed joys. 

Departed — never to return ! 

' The heroine of this song was Miss Kennedy, of Dalgarrock. Sh« 
dieJ of a broken heart for McDouall of Logan. 



362 SIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD. 

Oft lia'e I roved by bonnle Doon, 

To see the rose and woodbine twine ; 
And ilka bird sang o' its luve, 

And fondly sae did I o' mine. 
Wi' lightsome heart I pn'd a rose, 

Fii" sweet upon its thorny tree; 
And my fause lover stole my rose, 

But, ah ! he left the thorn wi' me. 



SIO A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD. 
Tune — " The eight men of Moidart." 

Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, 

The spot they ca'd it Linkum-doddie; 

Willie was a wabster ' guid, 

Could stown a clue wi' ony body : 

He had a wife was dour and din,'^ 

Tinkler Maidgie was her mither; 
Sic a wife as Willie had, 

1 wad na gi'e a button for her. 

She has an e'e — she has but ane. 

The cat has twa the very colour; 
Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump, 

A clapper-tongue wad deave ^ a miller ; 
A whiskin' beard about her mou', 

Her nose and chin they threaten ither— • 
Sic a wife as Willie had, 

I wad nae gi'e a button for her. 

She's bow-houghed,* she's hem-shinned; 

Ae limpin' leg, a hand-breed shorter ; 
She's twisted right, she's twisted left, 

To balance fair in ilka quarter .- 
She has a hump upon her breast, 

The twin o' that upon her shouther — 
Sic a wife as Willie had, 

I wad na gi'e a button for her. 

Auld Baudrans'' by the ingle sits. 
An' wi' her loof^ her face a-washin*; 

But Willie's wife is nae sae trig, 

She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion ; ' 

' Weaver. * Sullen and sallow. * Deafea 

« Kneed. ' The cat. _ * Paw. 

* She wipes her mouth with an old stocking. 



IlL 



LADY MARY ANN. 363 

Her walie nieves ' like midden- creels ; * 
Her face wad fyle* the Logan- Water : 

Sic a wife as Willie had, 
I wad na gi'e a button for her. 



LADY MARY ANN. 
Tune — " Craigston 's growing." 

0, Lady Maky Ann 

Looks o'er the castle w;i.', 
She saw three bonny boys 

Playing at the ba' ; 
The youngest he was 

The flower among them a'— 
My bonnie laddie's young, 

But he 's growin' yet. 

father, father ! 

An' ye think it fit, 
We '11 send him a year 

To the college yet : 
We '11 sew a green ribbon 

Round about his hat. 
And that will let them ken 

He 's to marry yet. 

Lady Mary Ann 

Was a flower i' the dew. 
Sweet was its smell. 

And bonnie was its hue ; 
And the langer it blossomed 

The sweeter it grew ; 
For the lily in the bud 

Will be bonnier yet. 

Young Charlie Cochrane 

Was the sprout of an aik ; 
Bonnie and bloomin' 

And straught was its make: 
The sun took delight 

To shine for its sake, 
And it will be the brag 

O' the forest yet. 

• Great fists. ^ Baskets for dii-t. * Dirty, defile. 



ff 



fn 



364 FAREWEEL TO A' OUR ISCOTTISE FAME. 

The simmer is gane 

When the leaves they were green. 
And the days are awa' 

That we ha'e seen; 
But far better days 

I trust will come again, 
For my bonnie laddie's young. 

But he's growin* yet. 



FAREWEEL TO A' OUR SCOTTISH FAME.' 
Tone — " Such a parcel of rogues in a nation." 

Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame ! 
Fareweel our ancient glory ! 

Fareweel ev'n to the Scottish name, 
Sae famed in martial story ! 

Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands, 
And Tweed rins to the ocean, 

To mark where England's province stands- 
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! 

What force or guile could not subdue 

Through many warlike ages, 
Is wrought now by a coward few. 

For hireling traitors' wages. 
The English steel we could disdain, 

Secure in valour's station; 
But English gold has been our bane — 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! 

O, would or I had seen the day 

That treason thus could sell us, 
My auld grej head had lien in clay 

Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace ! 
But pith and power, till my last hour, 

I'll mak' this declaration : 
We 're bought and sold for English gold — 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! 

' This song alludes to the Union with England, long unpopular amoii 
the Scottish peasantry. 



366 



GLOOMY DECEMBER.* 

Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy December ! 

Ance mair I hail thee wi' sorrow and care ; 
Sad was the parting thou makes me remember, 

Parting wi' Nancy, oh, ne'er to meet mair ! 
Fond lovers' parting is sweet painful pleasure, 

Hope beaming mdd on the soft parting hoar; 
But the dire feeling, oh, farewell for ever! 

la anguish unmingled and agony pure. 

Wild as the winter now tearing the forest, 

Till the last leaf o' the summer is flown ; 
Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom, 

Since my last hope and last comfort is gone 
Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December, 

Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care ; 
For sad was the parting thou makes me remeiuber,- 

Parting wi' Nancy, oh, ne'er to meet mair ! 



WILT THOU BE MY DEAETE?« 

Wilt thou be my dearie ? 

When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart* 
O, wilt thou let me cheer thee ? 

By the treasure of my soul. 
And that 's the love I bear thee ! 
I swear and vow, that only thou 

Shalt ever be my dearie ; 

Only thou, I swear and vow, 

Shalt ever be my learie. 

Lassie, say thou lo'es me ; 

Or if thou wilt na be my ain. 
Say na thou 'It refuse me : 

If it winna, canna be, 
Thou for thine may choose me. 
Let me, lassie, quickly die. 

Trusting that thou lo'es me; 
Lassie, let me quickly die. 
Trusting that thou lo'es me. 

' Written for " Clarinda." 

• ComDosefl in honour of Janet Miller, of Dalswinton. 



366 

SHE'S FAIE AND FAUSK 

She 's fair and fause that cauueit my ow titt, — 

I lo'ed her meikle and lang ; 
She 's broken her vow, she 'o broken ir, lieart» 

And I may e'en gae hang. 
A coof cam' in wi' rowth ' o' gear, 
And I ha'e tint my dearest dear ; 
But woman is but warld's gear, 

Sae let the bonnie lass gang. 

Whae'er ye be that woman love. 

To this be never bUnd, 
Nae ferlie 'tis though fickle she prove^ 

A woman has 't by kind : 
O woman lovely, woman fair ! 
Yn angel form's faun to thy share ; 
'Twad been o'er meikle to gien thee mair— 

I mean an angel mind. 

AFTON WATER.* 

Flow gently, sweet Affcon, among thy green braes, 
Flow gently, I 'II sing thee a song in thy praise ; 
My Mary 's asleep by thy murmuring stream, — 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 
Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds through the glen, 
Te wild whistUng blackbirds in yon thorny den, 
Thou green-crested lapwing thy screaming forbear, — 
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. 
How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills. 
Far-marked with the courses of clear- winding rills ! 
There daily I wander as noon rises high, 
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. 

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below. 
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow ; 
There oft as mild evening weeps over the lea, 
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me. 
Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, 
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides ; ' 
How wanton thy waters her snawy feet lave, 
As gath'ring sweet flowerets she stems thy clear wave. 

Plenty. '•' A small tributary of the Nith, Ayrsliire. 

• Afton Water is the stream on whirh stands Afton Lodge, to which 
Mrs. Stewart removed from Stair. Afton Loilge was Mrs. Stewart's 
property from her father. The song was presented to her in return for 
her notice — the first Bums ever received from any person in her rank of 
life. — CuBRTu, 



a 



BONNIE BELL. 367 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braea, 
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays ; 
My Mary 's asleep by thy murmuring stream, — • 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 



BONNIE BELL. 

The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing. 

And surly Winter grimly flies ; 
Now crystal clear are the falling waters, 

And bonnie blue are the sunny skies ; 
Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth the morning, 

The evening gilds the ocean's swell ; 
All creatures joy in the sun's returning. 

And I rejoice in my bonnie Bell. 

The flowery Spring leads sunny Summer, 

And yellow Autumn presses near. 
Then in his turn comes gloomy Winter, 

Till smiling Spring again appear. 
Thus seasons dancing, life advancing, 

Old Time and Nature their changes tell. 
But never ranging, still unchanging, 

I adore my bonnie Bell. 



THE GALLANT WEAVER. 

AVhere Cart rins rowin' to the sea. 
By mony a flower and spreading tree. 
There lives a lad, the lad for me, 
He is a gallant weaver. 

O, I had wooers aught or nine ; 
They gied me rings and ribbons fine ; 
And I was feared my heart would tine, 
And I gied it to the weaver. 

My daddie signed my tocher-band. 
To gi'e the lad that has the land ; 
But to my heart I '11 add my hand, 
And gi'e it to the weaver. 

While birds rejoice in leafy bowers ; 
While bees delight in opening flowers ; 
While com grows green in simmer showers, 
I '11 love my gallant weaver.' 
• In some editions "sailor" is substituted for ** weaver." 



n 



368 

JBAJSriE'S BOSOM. 
Tune — " Louis, what reck I by theet" 

Louis, what reck I by thee, 
Or Geordie on his oceaa ? 

Dyvor,* beggar louns to me, 
I reign in Jeanie's bosom. 

Let her crown my love her law, 
And in her breast enthrone me ; 

Kings and nations, swith awa' ! 
Keif randies,"^ I disown ye ! 



FOR THE SAKE OF SOMEBODY. 

My heart is sair, I dare na tell. 

My heart is sair for somebody ; 
I could wake a winter night 
For the sake o' somebody. 
Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 
Oh-hey ! for somebody ! 
I could range the world around. 
For the sake o' somebody. 

Ye Powers, that smile on virtuous love^ 

O, sweetly smile on somebody ! 
Frae ilka danger keep him free, 
And send me safe my somebody. 
Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 
Oh-hey ! for somebody ! 
I wad do — what wad I not. 
For the sake o' somebody P 



THE LOVELY LASS OF INVEENESS. 

The lovely lass o' Inverness, 

Nae joy nor pleasure can she see ; 
For e'en and morn she cries, alas ! 

And aye the saut tear blin's her e'e : 
Di'umossie moor, Drumossie day, 

A waefu' day it was to me ! 
For there I lost my father dear. 

My father dear and brethren three. 

Bankrupt ' Sturdy beggwi. 



^ - rr 



THE MIRK NIGHT 0' DECEMBER 

Their winding-sheet the hluidy clay, 

Their graves are growing green to see ; 
And by them lies the dearest lad 

That ever blest a woman's e'e ! 
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord ! 

A bluidy man I trow thou be ; 
For mony a heart thou hast made sair, 

That ne'er did wrong to thine or thee. 



THE MIEK NIGHT O' DECEMBER. 

O May, thy mom was ne'er so sweet 
As the mirk night o' December ; 

For sparkling was the rosy wine. 
And private was the chamber ; 

And dear was she I dare na name. 
But T will aye remember. 
And dear, &c. 

And here 's to them that, like oursel', 
Can push about the jorum ; 

And here 's to them that wish us weel— 
May a' that 's guid watch o'er theiii I 

And here 's to them we dare na tell. 
The dearest o' the quorum. 
And here 's to, &c. 



O, WAT YE WHA'S IN YON TO^VNP» 

0, WAT ye wha 's in yon town 
Ye see the e'enin' sun upon ? 

The fairest dame 's in yon town 
That e'enin' sun is shining on. 

Now haply down yon gay green shaw. 
She wanders by yon spreading tree : 

How blest ye flowers that round her blaw. 
Ye catch the glances o' her e'e ! 

How blest ye birds that round her sing. 
And welcome in the blooming year; 

And doubly welcome be the spring. 
The season to my Lucy dear. 



' The heroine of this song was Lucy Johnstone, of Hilton, afterwardi 
Mrs. QmoII. 



Jn 






370 JOCKEY'S TA'EN TEE PARTING KISS, 

The sun blinks blithe on yon town. 
And on 3'on bonnie braes of Ayr ; 

Bnt my delight in yon town, 
And dearest bliss is Lucy fair. 

Without my love, not a' the charms 
0' Paradise could yield me joy ; 

But gi'e me Lucy in my arms. 

And welcome Lapland's dreary sl;y. 

My cave wad be a lover's bower, 
Though raging winter rent the air ; 

And she a lovely little flower, 

That I wad tent and shelter there. 

O, sweet is she in yon town 

Ton sinkin' sun 's gane down upon ; 

A fairer than 's in yon town 

His setting beam ne'er shone upon. 

If angry Fate is sworn my foe. 

And suffering I am doomed to bear ; 

I careless quit aught else below. 
But spare me, spare me Lucy dear. 

For while life's dearest blood is warm, 
Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart; 

And she — as fairest is her form, 
She has the truest, kindest heart. 



JOCKEY'S TA'EN THE PARTrtTG KISS. 

Tune — " Bonnie lassie, tak' a man." 

Jockey 's ta'en the parting kiss, 

O'er the mountains he is gane ; 
And with him is a' my bliss, 

Nought but griefs with me remain. 
Spare my luve, ye winds that blaw. 

Flashy sleets and beating rain ! 
Spare my luve, thou feathery snaw, 

Drifting o'er the frozen plain ! 

When the shades of evening creep 

O'er the day's fair, gladsome e'e, 
Sound and safely may he sleep. 

Sweetly blithe his waukening be I 
He will think on her he loves. 

Fondly he '11 repeat her name : 
For where'er he distant roves. 

Jockey's heart is still at hame. 



r^: 



Jr 



371 

LADY ONLIE, 

Tune — " Ruffian's Rant." 

A' THE lads o' Thornie-bank, 

When they gae to the shore o' Bucky, 
They '11 step in an' tak' a pint 
Wi' Lady Onlie, honest Lucky. 
Lady Onlie, honest Lucky, 

Brews guid ale at shore o' Bucky; 
I wish her sale for her guid ale, 
The best on a' the shore o' Bucky. 

Her house sae bien, her curch sae clean, 

1 wat she is a dainty chucky ; 
And cheerHe blinks the ingle-gleed 
Of Lady OnUe, honest Lucky ! 
Lady Onlie, honest Lucky, 

Brews guid ale at shore o' Bucky ; 
I wish her sale for her guid ale , 
The best on a' the shore o' Buckyt 



THE CARLES OF DTSABT. 

[a fisherman's song.] 

Tune—" Hey ca' tiirough." 

Up wi' the carles o' Dysart, 

And the lads o' Buckhaven, 
And the kimmers o' Largo, 
And the lasses o' Leven. 

Hey, ca' through, ca' through. 

For we ha'e mickle ado ; 
Hey, ca' through, ca' througli. 
For we ha'e mickle ado. 

We ha'e tales to teU, 

And we ha'e sangs to sing ; 

We ha'e pennies to spend. 
And we ha'e pints to bring. 

We '11 live a' our days. 

And them that come behin'. 
Let them do the like. 

And spend the gear they win. 
Hey, ca' through, ca' through. 

For we ha'e mickle ado ; 
Hey, ca' through, ca' through. 
For we ha'e mickle ado. 



372 

THE DECmS DANG O'ER MY DADDIE, Ol 
Tune—" The deuks dang o'er my daddie." 

The baii-ns gat out wi' an unco shout, 

The deuks • dang ^ o'er my daddie, O ! 
The fient ma care, quo' the feirie^ auld wife. 

He was but a paidlin'* body, O ! 
He paidles out, an' he paidles in, 

An' he paidles late an' early, ! 
Thae seven lang years I ha'e lien by his side, 

An' he is but a fusionless carhe, ! 

0, hand your tongue, my feirie auld wife, 

0, hpaid your tongue now, Nansie, ! 
I 've seen the day, and sae ha'e ye. 

Ye wadna been sae donsie,' O ! 
I 've seen the day ye buttered my broae. 

And cuddled me late and early ! 
But downa do 's® come o'er me now, — 

And, oh, I feel it sairly, ! 



THE DE'IL'S AW A' WT TH' EXCISEMAN. 
Tune — ** The de'il cam' fiddling through the to^^i-." 

The de'il cam' fiddling through the town. 
And danced awa' wi' th' Exciseman, 

And ilka wife cries — " Auld Mahoun, 
I wish you luck o' the prize, man ! " 

The de'il 's awa', the de'il 's awa'. 
The de'il 's awa' wi' th' Exciseman ; 

He 's danced awa', he 's danced awa', 
He 's danced awa' wi' th' Exciseman ! 

We '11 mak' our maut, we '11 brew our drink. 
We '11 dance, and sing, and rejoice, man ; 

And mony braw thanks to the meikle black de'il 
That danced awa' wi' th' Exciseman. 

There 's threesome reels, there 's foursome reels. 
There 's hornpipes and strathspeys, man ; 

But the ae best dance e'er cam' to the land 
Was — the de'il 's awa' wi' th' Exciseman. 

Ducks. * Knocked. ' Sturdy. 

Wandering. * Pettish. * Old age. 



== JJI ill 



DAINTY DAVIE. 

The de'il 's awa', tlie de'il 's awa', 
The de'il 's awa' wi' th' Exciseman ; 

He 's danced awa', he 's danced awa', 
He 's danced awa' wi' th* Exciseman I 



DAINTY DAYIE/ 

Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers, 

To deck her gay green spreading bowers ; 

And now comes in my happy hours, 
To wander wi' my Davie. 

CHORUS. 

Meet me on the warlock knowe. 
Dainty Davie, dainty Davie ; 

There I '11 spend the day wi' you, 
My ain dear dainty Davie. 

The crystal waters round us fa'. 

The merry birds are lovers a', 
The scented breezes round us blaw, 

A wandering wi' my Davie. 
Meet me, &c. 

When purple morning starts the hare, 

To steal upon her early fare. 
Then through the dews I will repair 

To meet my faithfu' Davie. 
Meet me, &c. 

When day, expiring in the west. 
The curtaiu draws o' Nature's rest, 

I flee to his arms I lo'e best. 
And that 's my ain dear Davie. 

Meet me on the warlock knowe, 
Bonnie Davie, dainty Davie ; 

There I '11 spend the day wi' you, 
My ain dear dainty Davie. 

« "DHlntie Davie" k the title of a^ old Scotch ^ong^om which 
Burns haa take? nothini but the title and the measure. -Cukkhj, 



asrt 



BY ATT. AX STBSAM. 

Bt AEaa sttntam I ^aazoiii «? rvT«L 

Titf _>nflk>w com. WTfcj w^fcTBK r«fclT ; 



H» MM ii^«K m^ IdMHaHe ^Kaa!^ 
!^«, snfai^e^ sm4. * I ^ ^laB» iMr 4 



I 






*IE. 



*y!»^ ,^ ^--S 



BAD FA CAVR 376 

Swtvt to tV.o ojvtiinc: day. 
li<>stlv,ui# Iviit the dowv spray; 
Such tin- bloom ! did I say, 
Phillis the fair. 

Dovm in a shady walk. 

Doves oo^">ing vrore ; 
I nuvrked the eniel hawk 

Caught in a snare; 
So kiiui mav Fortune be— 
Snoh make Ins destiny — 
He who would injure thee, 

Phillis the lair". 



HAD I A CA^TJ. 

Tune—" Rohin Adsdr." 

H<P 1 a cave on some wild distivnt shore. 

^Yher^ the winds howl to the waves' dashing roar; 

There wotild I weep my woe*. 

There seek my lost repose. 

Till grief my eyes should dose, 
Ne'er to wake more^ 

Falsest of womankind, canst thou dedare. 
All thy fond-plighted vows — ^tieeting as aii ? 

To tliy new lover hie, 

Laugli o'er thy jvijitiy. 

Then in thy bosom try 
"SVhat peace is there I 



THOU HAST LEFT ME ETEU. 

Tune — " Fee him, fwlier.'' 

Tnor hast left me ever, Jamie, thou hast left me ever. 
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, thou hast lert me ever; 
Atten hast thou vowed that death only should us sever. 
Now tliou'st lel\ thy lass for aye — I maun see thee never, 
Jamie, 

1 11 see thee never. 

Tliou hast me forsaken, Jamie, thou hast me forsaken. 
Thou h;ist me fors;iken. Jamie, thou hast me forsaken : 
Thou oiuist love another jo while my heart is breaking : 
Soon my wear}- een I "U close, never mair to waken. Jamie, 

Ne'er mair to waken. 



376 



AULD LANG SYNE. 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And never bi-ought to n'in' ? 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And days o' lang syne ? 



For auld lang syne, my dear, 

For auld lang syne, 
We '11 tak' a cup o' kindness yet, 

For auld lang syne ? 

We twa ha'e run about the braes, 

And pu't the gowans fine ; 
Bat we 've wandered mony a weary foot 

Sin' auld lang syne. 
For auld, &c. 

We twa ha'e paidl't i' the burn, 

Frae momin' sun till dine ; 
But seas between us braid ha'e roared 

Sin auld lang syne. 
For auld, &c. 

And here 's a hand, my trustie fiere,' 

And gie's a hand o' thine ; 
And we '11 tak' a right guid willie-waught,* 

For auld lang syne. 
For auld, &c. 

And surely ye 'U be your pint-stoup. 

And surely I '11 be mine ; 
And we 'U tak' a cup o' kindness yet 

For auld lang syne. 
For auld, &c. 



BANNOCKBUEN. 

^ROBERT BRUCE's ADDRESS TO HIS ARMT.] 

Scots, wha ha'e wi' Wallace bled ! 
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led ! 
Welcome to your gory bed, 
Or to glorious victorie { 

lUesdr ' Draaght. 




Scots, wha ha'e. — p. 376. 



MY SPOVSE NANCY. Z7I 

Now 's the day, and now 's the hour; 
See the front o' battle lower ! 
See approach prond Edward's power — 
Edward ! chains and slaverie ! 

Wha will be a traitor knave ? 
"VN'ha can fill a coward's grave ? 
Wha sae base as be a slave ? 

Traitor ! coward ! turn and flee ! 

Wha for Scotland's king and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
Free-man stand, or free-man fa', 
Caledonian ! on wi' me ! 

By oppression's woes and pains ! 
Bv your sons in servile chains! 
We will drain our dearest veins, 

But they shall — they shall be freei 

Lay the proud usurpers low ! 
T V rants fall in every foe ! 
Liberty 's in every blow ! 

Forward ! let us do, or die 1 



MY SPOUSE NANCY. 
Tune— "To Janet." 

Httsband, husband, cease youi strife^ 

Nor longer idly rave, sir ; 
Though I am your wedded wife, 

Yet I am not your slave, sir. 

•* One of two must still obey, 

Nancy, Nancy ; 
Is it man, or woman, say. 
My spouse Nancy P " 

If 'tis still the lordly word. 

Service and obedience ; 
I '11 desert my sovereign lord. 

And so good-bye, allegiance I 

*' Sad will I be, so bereft, 

Nancy, Nancy, 
Yet I '11 try to make a shift, 
My spouse Nancy." 



r1 



ir 



1^ • K 



878 FAIR JENNY. 

My poor heart then break it must, 
My last hour I 'm near it : 

When you lay me in the dust, 

Think, think how you will bear it. 

'' I will hope and trust in heaven, 
Nancy, Nancy; 
Strength to bear it will be given. 
My spouse Nancy." 

Well, sir, from the silent dead 
Still I '11 try to daunt you ; 

Ever i-ound your midnight bed 
Horrid sprites shall haunt you. 

" I '11 wed another Kke my dear 
Nancy, Nancy ; 
Then all hell will fly for fear — 
My spouse Nancy." 



FAIR JENNY. 
Tune — " Saw ye my father." 

Where are the joys I have met in the morning, 

That danced to the lark's early song ? 
Where is the peace that awaited my wandering 

At evening the wild woods among ? 

No more a-windiug the course of yon river. 

And marking sweet flowerets so fair ; 
No more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure, 

But sorrow and sad sighing care. 

Is it that summer 's forsaken our valleys, 

And grim surly winter is near ? 
No, no, the bees humming round the gay roses 

Proclaim it the pride of the year. 

Fain would I hide what I fear io discover, 

Yet long, long too well have I known, 
All that has caused this wreck in my bosom. 

Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone. 

Time cannot aid me — my griefs are immortal — 

Nor hope dare a comfort bestow: 
Come, then, enamoured and fond of my anguish, 

Enjoyment i 'U seek ia my woe. 

W' h -^ ^^ if 



379 

LOVELY POLLY STEWART. 
Time — "Ye 're welcome, Charlie Stuart." 

O LOVELY Polly Stewart ! 

O cliarming Polly Stewart ! 
There 's ne'er a flower tliat blooms in IMay 

That 's half sae lair as thou art. 
The flower it blaws, it fades and fa's, 

And art can ne'er renew it ; 
But worth and truth eternal youth 

Will gi'e to Polly Stewart. 

May he whose arms shall fauld thy charina, 

Possess a leal and true heart ; 
To him be given to ken the heaven 

He grasps in Polly Stewart. 
lovely Polly Stewart ! 

O charming Polly Stewart ! 
There 's ne'er a flower that blooms in May 

That 's half sae sweet as thou art. 



THE HIGHLAND LADDIE. 
Tune — " If thou 'It play me fair play." 

The bonniest lad that e'er I saw, 

Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, 
Wore a plaid, and was fu' braw, 

Bonnie Highland laddie. 
On his head a bonnet blue, 

Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, 
His loyal heart was firm and true, 

Bonnie Highland laddie. 

Trumpets sound and cannons roar, 

Bonnie lassie, Lawland lassie ; 
And a' the hills wi' echoes roar, 

Bonnie Lawland lassie. 
Glory, honour, now invite, 

Bonnie lassie, Lawland lassie. 
For freedom and my king to fight, 

Bonnie Lawland lassie. 

The sun a backward course snail take, 
Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie ! 

Ere aught thy manly courage shake, 
B ^nnie Highland laddie. 



3S0 ASXA. TET CHARJIS. 

Go i ibr yoursel' prxure renow-n, 
Bonnie laddie. Higiiland laduie; 

Ar i :br vour lawful kiTig his crown, 
Bonnie Hiffhland laddie ! 



AX^'A, THY CHAEMa 
Tune — *' Bc'nnie Mary." 

A>~S'A, tliT ctarms my bosom Sre, 

And 'press my sonl witli care ; 
J' aL all I how bootless to admire, 

Wben fated to de?r air ! 
Yet in thy presence, I -vely fair. 

To hope may be forariyen ; 
For sure 'twere impious to despahi 

So much in sight of Heaven. 



CASSILLIS BA>'K5. 

Tune aoknovn. 

"Sow bank an' brae are claithed in green. 
An' scattered cc wslip.s sweetly spiring ; 
By Girran's fairy -hauntei stream 
The t'iriies rit on wanton wing. 
To CassillLs" banks, when e'er.ing fe's. 
There wi' my Mary let me flee. 
There catch her ilka glance of loTe, 
The bonnie blink o' Maiy's e'e ! 

The chield wha boasts o' warld's wakh. 
Is often laird o' meikle care ; 
But Mary she is a' mine ain — 
\h ; Fortune canna gi'e me mair I 
Then let me ranffe by CassiHis" tania, 
Wi" her, the lassie dear to me. 
And catch her ilka glance o' love, 
The bonnie Uink o' Maxy's e'e ! 



jni 



381 

THE AULD MAN. 
"Tune — "The winter of life." 

But lately seen in gladsome green, 

The woods rejoice the day, 
Through gentle showers the laughing flowers 

In double pride were gay : 
But now our joys are fled 

On winter blasts awa' ! 
Yet maiden May, in rich array, 

Again shall bring them a'. 

But my white pow, nae kindly thowe 

Shall melt the snaws of age ; _ , 

My trunk of eild, but buss or bield. 

Sinks in time's wintry rage. 
O, age has weary days. 

And nights o' sleepless pain ! _ 
Thou golden time o' youthfu' prira^ 

Why com'st thou not again ? 



O P HILLY I 

Tune—" The sow's tail. 



O PmiJiY ! happy be that day, 
When, roving through the gathered hay. 
My youthfu' heart was stown away, 
"And by thy charms, my Philly ! 

SHE. 

O "Willy ! aye I bless the grove 
"Where first I owned my maiden love, 
"Whilst thou didst pledge the Powers above 
To be my ain dear "Willy. 

HE. 

As songsters of the early year 
Are ilka day mair sweet to hear. 
So ilka day to me mair dear 
And charming is my Philly, 






^ 




1 


382 


P HILL 7 1 

SHE. 

As on the brier the budding rose 
Still richer breathes and fairer blows. 
So in my tender bosom grows 
The love I bear my Willy. 

HE. 

The milder sun and bluer sky, 
That crown my harvest cares wi' joy, 
Were ne'er sae welcome to my eye 
As is a sight o' Philly. 

SHE. 

The little swallow's wanton wing, 
Though wafting o'er the flowery spring, 
Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring, 
As meeting o' my Willy. 

HE. 

The bee that through the sunny near 
Sips nectar in the opening flower, 
Compared wi' my delight, is poor, 
Upon the hps o' Philly. 

SHE. 

The woodbine in the dewy weet. 
When evening shades in silence meet, 
Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet 
As is a kiss o' WiUy. 

HE. 

Let Fortune's wheel at random rin, 
And fools may tine, and knaves may winj 
My thoughts are a' bound up in ane. 
And that 's my ain dear Philly. 

SHE. 

What 's a' the joys that gowd can gi'e 1 
f care nae wealth a single flie ; 
The lad I love 's the lad for me. 
And that *s my ain dear WiUy. 





383 

CONTENTED WI' LITTLE. 
Tune — " Lumps o' pudding." 

Contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair, 
Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care, 
I gi'e them a skelp, as they 're creeping alang, 
Wi' a cog o' guid swats, and an auld Scottish sang. 

I whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought ; 

But man is a sodger, and life is a faught : 

My mirth and guid humour are coin in my pouch, 

And my Freedom 's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch, 

A towmond ' o' trouble, should that be my fa', 
A night o' guid fellowship sowthers * it a' : 
When at the blithe end o' our journey at last, 
Wha the de'il ever thinks o' the road he has past ? 

Blind Chance, let her snapper ^ and stoyte on her way ; 
Be 't to me, be 't frae me, e'en let the jade gae : 
Come ease, or come travail; come pleasure, or pain. 
My warst word is — " Welcome, and welcome again !" 



CANST THOU LEAVE ME THUS, MY KATIE P 

Tone — " Roy's wife." 

CHOKITS. 

Canst thou leave me thus, my Katie ? 
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katie ? 
Well thou know'st my aching heart, 
And canst thou leave me thus for pity ? 

Is this thy plighted fond regard. 

Thus cruelly to part, my Katie ? 
Is this thy faithful swain's reward — 

An aching, broken heart, my Katie P 
Canst thou, &c. 

Farewell ! and ne'er such sorrows tear 
That fickle heart of thine, my Katie ! 

Thou may'st find those will love thee dear— 
But not a love like mine, my Katie. 
Canst thou, &c. 

' TwelvemontL ' Makes up for it. ' Stumble. 



^64 



CHLOEIS.* 

My Chloris, mark how green the groves^ 

The primrose banks how fair ; 
The balmy gales awake the flowers, 

And wave 'thy flaxen hair. 

The laverock' shuns the palace gay. 

And o'er the cottage sings ; 
For nature smiles as sweet, I ween, 

To shepherds as to kings. 

Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string 

In lordly lighted ha' ; 
The shepherd stops his simple reed. 

Blithe, in the birken shaw. 

The princely revel may survey 

Our rustic dance wi' scorn ; 
But are their hearts as light as oum 

Beneath the milk-white thorn ? 

The shepherd, in the flowery glen. 
In shepherd's phrase will woo; 

The courtier tells a finer tale. 
But is his heart as true ? 

These wild- wood flowers I 've pu'd, to deck 

That spotless breast o' thine : 
The courtier's gems may witness love — 

But 'tis na love like mine. 



HAD I THE WTTE SHE BADE MB. 
Tune — " Had I the wyte she bade me." 

HiD T the wyte,' had I the wyte. 

Had I the wyte she bade me ; 
She watched me by the hie-gate side, 

And up the loan she shawed me ; 
And when I wadna venture in, 

A cowai-d loon she ca'd me ; 
Had Kirk and State been in the gate, 

I lighted when she bade me. 

' Jean Lorimer. ' Lark. Blame. 



Tk 



y 



COMING THROUGH THE RYE. 386 

Sae craftily she took me ben, 

And bade me mate nae clatter ; 
" For our ramgunshoch, glum guidman 

Is o'er ayont the water." 
Whae'er shall say I wanted grace 

When I did kiss and dawte her, 
Let him be planted in my place, 

Syne say I was a fautor. 

Could I for shame, could I for shame. 

Could I for shame refused her ? 
And wadna manhood been to blame 

Had I unkindly used her ? 
He clawed her wi' the ripplin'-kame, 

And blae and bluidy bruised her : 
When sic a husband was frae hamc, 

What wife but wad excused her F 

I dighted aye her een sae blue. 

And banned the cruel randy; 
And weel I wat her willing men' 

Was e'en like sugar-cundy. 
At gloaming-shot it was, I trow, 

I lighted on the Monday ; 
But I cam' through the Tysday's dew, 

To wanton Willie's brandy. 



DOMING THROUGH THE RYE. 

Tune — " Commg through the rye." 

Coming through the rye, poor body, 

Coming through the rye, 

She draiglet a' her petticoatie 

Coming through the rye. 

O, Jenny 's a' wat, poor body ; 

Jenny 's seldom dry ; 
She dridglet a' her petticoatie 
Coming through the rye. 

Gin a body meet a body 
Coming through the rye, 

Gin a body kiss a body — 
Need a body cry P 

Gin a body meet a body 
Coming through the glen. 

Gin a body kiss a body — 
Need the warld ken ? 



c o 



TS_ 



386 THE WINTER IT IS PAST 

0, Jenny 's a' wat, poor body ; 

Jenny 's seldom dry ; 
She draiglet a' her petticoatie 

Coming through the rye. 



THE WINTEE IT IS PAST.' 

The winter it is past, and the summer 's come at last, 

And the little birds sing on every tree ; 
Now everything is glad, while I am very sad, 

Since my true love is parted from me. 

The rose upon the brier, by the waters running clear, 

May have charms for the linnet or the bee ; 
Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts at rest, 

But my true love is parted from me. 

My love is like the sun — in the firmament does run. 

For ever is constant and true ; 
But his is like the moon, that wanders up and down, 

And is every month changing anew. 

All you that are in love, and cannot it remove, 

I pity the pains you endure ; 
For experience makes me know that your hearts are full o' woe^ 

A woe tliat no mortal can cure. 



yOUNG JAMIE, PRIDE OF A' THE PLAIN. 

Tune — " The carlin o' the glen." 

ToTJNG Jamie, pride of a' the plain, 
Sae gallant and sae gay a swain ; 
Through a' our lasses he did rove, 
And reigned, resistless, king of love : 
But now, wi' sighs and starting tears, 
He strays among the woods and briers ; 
Or in the glens and rocky caves. 
His sad complaining dowie raves. 

I wha sae late did range and rove. 
And changed with every moon my love, 
1 Uttle thought the time was near, 
Repentance I should buy sae dear : 
The shghted maids my torments see, 
And laugh at a' the pangs I dree ; 
While she, my cruel, scornfu' Fair, 
Forbids me e'er to see her mair ! 

* It i ^ iubtful whether this song was written by Burna^ 



887 

OUT OVER THE FORTH. 
Tune — " Charlie Gordon's welcome hame." 

Out over the Forth I look to the north, 

But what is the north and its Highlands to meP 

The south nor the east gi'e ease to mj' breast, 
The far foreign land, or the wild-rolling sea. 

But I look to the west, when I gae to rest, 

That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be 

For far in the west lives he I lo'e best. 
The lad that is dear to my babie and me. 



THE LOVER'S MORNING SALUTATION TO HIS 
MISTRESS.! 

Tune — " De'il tak' the wars." 

Sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou, fairest creature P 

Rosy morn now lifts its eye. 
Numbering ilka bud which Nature 
"Waters wi' the tears o' joy : 

Now through the leafy woods, 

And by the reeking tioods. 
Wild Nature's tenants freely, gladly stray j 

The lintwhite in his bower 

Chants o'er the breathing flower; 

The laverock to the sky 

Ascends wi' sangs o' joy, 
While the sun and thou arise to bless the day. 

Phoebus, gilding the brow o' morning, 

Banishes ilk darksome shade. 

Nature gladdening and adorning; 

Such to me my lovely maid. 

When absent frae my fair, 

The murky shades o' care 
With starless gloom o'ercast my sullen sky; 

But when, in beauty's light. 

She meets my ravished sight, 

When through my very heart 

Her beaming glories dart — 
Tis then I wake to hfe, to light, iuid joy. 

' Chloris, i.e., Jean Lorimer (Mrs. Whelpdii''* 

J 



& 



THE LASS OF ECCLEFECHAI^?. 
Tune — " Jacky Latm." 

Gat ve me, O, gat ye me, 

0. gat ye me wi' naetMng ? 
Eock and reel, and spinnin'-wlied, 

A mickle quarter basin. 
Bye attour ' my gntclier * has 

A high house and a laigh ane, 
A' forbye my bonnie sel', 

The lass of Ecclefechan. 

O, hand yonr tongue, now, Lnckie Laing, 

O, hand your tongue and jaunex;^ 
I held the gate till yon I met, 

Svne I bearan to wander -. 
I tint * my whistle and my sang, 

I tint my peace an i pleasure ; 
But your green graif.* now, LucHe Lain^ 

"Wad airt • me to my treasure. 



THE COOPKB 0* CUDDIB. 

Ttme — " Bob ai tise Bo-srster." 

The Cooper o' Cuddie cam' here awa* ; 
He ca'd the girs ' out owre us a' — 
And our guidwife has gotten a ca' 
That an^ere>i the silly Juidman. 0. 
We '11 hide the cooper behind the door, 
Behind the door, behind the dc«Dr, 
We Tl hide the c<x>per behind the door. 
And cover him under a mawn,' O. 

He sought them out, he sought them in, 
Wi' de'il ba'e her I and de'fl ha'e hi-m ! 
But the 'c->iy he was sae doited and blin'/ 
He wist na where he was gaun, 0. 

They coopered at e'en, they coopered at mom. 
Till our gui iman has giotten the scorn ; 
On ilka brow she 's planted, a hom. 

And gwears that there they shall stan', 0. 

■ Besidea. * GnadfiAer. * GmmbGng. 

* Lost. • 6i»Te. • Direct. 

^ Hoop*. * Bsskot. ' St^id vsd bliv^ 



Q 



AH, CHLORIS. 389 

We '11 hide the cooper behind the door, 
Btliind the door, behind the door ; 
We '11 hide the cooper behind the door. 
And cover him under a mawn, O. 

AH, CHLOEIS. 
Tune — " Major Graham.' 

Ah, Chloris ! since it may na be 

That thou of love wilt hear; 
If from the lover thou ma nil flee, 

Yet let the friend be dear. 

Although I love my Ch!<jris mair 

Than ever tongue could teU, 
My passion I will ne'er declare, — 

I 'U say, I wish thee well. 

Though a' my daily care thou art, 

And a' my nightly dream, 
1 11 hide the struggle in my heart* 

And saj it is esteem. 



THE CAEDEN' O'T. 

Time — " Salt fish and dumplings." 

I COFT ' a stane o' haslock woo',' 

To make a coat to Johnny o' t ; 
For Johnny is my only jo, 
I lo"e him best of ony yet. 

The cardin' o' t, the spinnui' o' t, 

The warpin' o' t, the winnin' o' t • 
When Uka eU cost me a groat. 
The tailor staw ' the linin' o' t. 

For though his locks be lyart grey, 

And though his brow be held aboon. 
Yet I lia'e seen him on a day 
The prid'^ of a' the parishen. 

The c. ..• iin' o' t, the spinnin' o' t, 

The warpin' o' t, the winnin' o' t ; 
When ilka ell cost me a groat, 
The tail<w staw the hnin' o' t. 

Bought. '^ Wool from a sheep's throat — the finest woo). ' Stole. 



Jr 



390 



THE LASS THAT MADE THE BED TO ME; 
Tune — " The lass that made the bed to me." 

When Jannar' wind was blawin' cauld. 

As to the North I took my way, 
The mirksome night did nie enfauld, 

I knew na where to lodge till day. 

By my good luck a maid I met, 
Jiist in the middle o' my care; 
And kindly she did me invite 
To walk into a chamber fair. 

I bowed fu' low unto this maid, 
And thanked her for her coui-tesy; 

I bowed fa' low unto this maid. 
And bade her mak' a bed for me. 

She made the bed baith large and wide, 
Wi' twa white hands she spread it down , 

She put the cup to her rosy Ups, 

And drank, " Toung man, now sleep ye soun'." 

She snatched the candle in her hand, 
And frae my chamber went wi' speed; 

But I called her quickly back again 
To lay some mair below my head. 

A cod ^ she laid below my head. 

And served me wi' due respect ; 
And, to salute her wi' a kiss, 

I put my arms about her neck. 

** Hand off j^our hands, young man," she says, 
" And dmna sae uncivil be ; 
Gif ye ha'e onie love for me, 
O, wrang na my virginitie !" 

Her hair was like the Hnks o' gowO, 

Her teeth were like the ivorie ; 
Her cheeks like Ulies dipt in wine, 

The lass that made the bed to me. 

Her bosom was the driven snaw, 

Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see ; 
Her limbs the polished marble stane. 

The lass that made the bed to me. 

' "The bonnie lass that made the bed to me" was composed on an 
amour of Charles II., when skulking in the North, about Aberdeen, in thi 
time of the Usurpation. — Burns. 

■* Pillow. 






SAE FAR AWA\ 301 

I kissed her owre and owre again, 

And aye she wist na what to say ; 

I laid her between me and the wa' — 

The lassie thought na lang till day. 

Upon the morrow, when we rase,* 

I thanked her for her courte;5y ; _ 
But aye she blushed, and aye she sighed, 

And said, " Alas ! ye 've ruined me." 

I clasped her waist, and kissed her syne, 
While the tear stood twinkling in her e'e | 

I said, " My lassie, dinna cry, 

For ye aye shall mak' the bed to me." 

She took her mither's holland sheets, 
And made them a' in sarks " to me : 

Blithe and merry may she be. 
The lass that made the bed to me ! 

The bonnie lass made the bed to me. 
The braw lass made the bed to me; 

I '11 ne'er forget, till the day I die. 
The lass that made the bed to me I 



SAE FAR AWA.' 
Tsne — "Dalkeith Maiden Bridge." 

O, SAD and heavy should T part, 

Bdt for her sake sae far awa' : 
Unknowing what my way may thw irt* 

My native land sae far awa'. 
Thou that of a' things Maker art, 

That formed this Fair sae far a'.-a', 
Gi'e body strength, then I '11 ne'fir start 

At this my way sae far awa'. 

How true is love to pure desert, 

So love to her, sae far awa' : 
And nocht can heal ray bosom's smart, 

While, oh ! she is sae far awa'. 
Nane other love, nane other dart, 

I feel but hers, sae far awa' ; 
But fairer never touched a heart 

Than hers, the Fair sap far awit 

Ro8*. ** Bhirt». 



39S 

I'LL AYE CA' IX BY YOX TOWN.* 
Tune — "I'll gae dm mur to jvn town." 

I 'll aye ca' in br von town. 

And br von gnnien gn?en. again ; 
I '11 ay^ 01*' in by yon town. 

And §<* niT bonuie Jftiu a^ain. 
Therv 's naue sail keu. then? 's nane sail gaeai^ 

■What britiiTs me btiok the irate ag-ain ; 
Br.t she my ttiin?st taithtV lass. 

And stowlins- xn? siill me<?t again. 

She 11 wander by the aikeu tiee. 

When tryjtin'-time driws n^ir again; 
Aud when her lovely torra I see. 

O haith. she 's do ably dear again ! 
I "11 ave ca' in by yoo town. 

And by yoo garden green, again ; 
1 11 ave oa' in by yon town. 

Axtd s«ee mv ^■>nme J-*i:» again. 



LIST NOT WOitAJf E'ER COMPLAOT 



Lft nol voaaan eW wphw 

Of XMsoasbae^ m Ivpe: 
Ijet not «<onian «*er eaaBpfatm 

FidDe wu is ^pk to rcve. 

Look ahrtMid Aio^^ X&tm«''s imi^Ck — 
NataK^s aM^^ law b chii^ff : 
LftJHs. vQnAi k not be sferu^e 



Maxk «l» viiBda. ud Mid: ike skies 

Ocistn'^ tdblK ud occHn's flov: 
8«n ami aotm bot s«t to is^ 



WkT, Aaa, «sk of sslk- BBsa 
T^a Qn^»^ $TC>^ STatnies pbn? 
We lErbft (Ottsttnt vb^ wft COB.— 
Ten can be no bmk«, joa kMw. 






393 

SAW YE MY PHELY? 

(quasi DICAT PHILLIS.) 

Tune — " Wheu she cauie ben she bobbit" 

0, SAW ye my dear, my Phely ? 
0, saw ye my dear, my Phely ? 
She 's down i' the grove, she 's wi' a new love, 
She witma come hame to her Willy. 

What says she, my dearest, my Phely ? 
What says she, my dearest, my Phely? 
She lets thee to wot that she has thee forgot, 
And for ever disowns thee her Willy. 

0, had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! 
O, had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! 
As light as the air, and fause as thon 's fain 
Thou 's broken the heart o' thy Willy. 



ON THE SEAS AlsD FAB, AWAY. 

Tnne— " O'er the hills,'' &c. 

How can my poor heart be glad, 
When absent from my sailor lad ? 
How can I the thought forego. 
He 's on the seas to meet the foe? 
Let me wander, let me rove. 
Still my heart is with my love ; 
Nightlv dreams and thoughts by day 
Are with him that 's fai- away. 

CHORUS. 

On the seas and far away. 
On stormy seas and far away ; 
IS'ightly dreams and thoi^ghts by day 
Are aye with him that's far away. 

When in summer's noon I faint. 
As weary flocks around me pant. 
Haply in this scorching sun 
My sailor 's thnndering at his gun : 
Bullets, spare my only joy I 
Bullets, spare my darling boy ! 
Fate, do with me what you may, 
Spare but him that 's far away ! 



O 



^ ^ 



394 SUE M rs SHE LO'ES ME BEST OF A". 

Ax tlie starless midnight hour. 

When winter rules with boundless power; 

As the storms the forest tear, 

And thunders rend the howling air. 

Listening to the doubling roar, 

Surging on the rocky shore, 

All I can — I AYeep and pray, 

For his weal that 's far away. 

Peace, thy olive wand extend, 
And bid wild War his ravage end ; 
Man with brother man to meet. 
And as a brother kindly greet : 
Then may Heaven with prosperous galeg 
Fill my sailor's welcome sails ; 
To my arms their charge convey, 
My dear lad that's far away. 
Over the seas, &c. 



SEE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST OP AV 
Tune — ** Onagh's Waterfall." 

Sae flaxen were her ringlets, 

Her eyebrows, of a darker hue, 
Bewitchingly o'er-arching 

Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue. 
Her smiling sae wyhng, 

Wad make a wretch forget his woe; 
What pleasure, what treasure. 

Unto these rosy lips to grow ! 
Such was my Ohloris' bonnie face, 

Wlien first her bonnie face I saw. 
And aye my Chloris' dearest charm. 

She says she lo'es me best of a'. 

Like harmony her motion ; 

Her pretty ankle is a spy 
Betraying fair proportion. 

Wad make a saint forget the sky. 
Sae warming, sae charming. 

Her faultless form and gracefu' air ; 
Ilka feature — anld Nature 

Declared that she could do no mair : 
Hers are the willing chains o' love, 

By conquering beauty's sovereign law; 
And aye my Chloi-is' dearest charm, 

She says she lo'es me best of a'. 

' The lieroiue of this song was the beautiful Jean Loriiner. 



m 



TO THEE, LOVED NITff. 396 

Let otliers love the city, 

And gaudy show at sunny noon; 
Gi'e me the lonely valley, 

The dewy eve, and rising moon 
Fair beaming, and sti-eaming, 

Her silver light the boughs amang ; 
While falling, recalling. 

The am'rous thrush concludes his sang: 
There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove 

By wimpUng burn and leafy shaw, 
And hear my vows o' truth and love, 

And say thou lo'es me best of a'. 



TO THEE, LOVED NITH. 

Tune unknown. 

To thee, loved Nith, thy gladsome plains, 
Where late wi' careless thought I ranged, 

Tl iough prest wi' care and sunk in woe. 
To thee I bring a heart unchanged. 

I love thee, Nith, thy banks and braes. 
Though memory there my bosom tear; 

Yvr there he roved that brake my heai-t, 
i'et to that heart, ah, stUl how dearl 



BANNOCKS O' BARLEY. 
Tune— "The Killoge." 

Bannocks o' bear ' meal. 

Bannocks o' barley ; 
Here 's to the Highlandman's 

Bannocks o' barley ! 
Wha in a brulzie '' 

Will first cry a parley ? 
Never the lads wi' 

The bannocks o' barley ! 

Bannocks o' bear meal. 

Bannocks o' barley ; 
Here 's to the Highlandman'g 

Bannocks o' barley ! 

Barley. '^ Figbt, LroiL 



396 BEE BALOU. 

Wha in his wae-days 
Were loyal to Charlie P 

Wha but the lads wi' 
The bannocks o' barley ? 



HEE BALOU. 

Tune— "The Highland Balou.' 

Ht-;e balou ! ' my sweet wee Donald, 
Picture o' the great Clanronald ; 
Brawlie kens our wanton chief 
Wha got my young Highland thief. 

Leeze me on ^ thy bonnie craigie ! * 
An' thou live, thou '11 steal a uaigie : 
Travel the country through and through. 
And bring hame a Carlisle cow. 

Through the Lawlands, o'er the border. 
Weal, my babie, may thou furder ! 
Herry the louns o' the laigh countrie, 
Syne ^ to the Highlands hame to me. 



WAE IS MY HEAET. 

Tune — " Wae is my heart." 

Wae is my heart, and the tear 's in my e'e ; 
Lang, lang, joy 's been a stranger to me : 
Forsaken and friendless, my burden I bear, 
And the sweet voice o' pity ne'er sounds in my ear. 

Love, thou hast pleasures, and deep ha'e I loved : 
Love, thou hast sorrows, and sair ha'e I proved ; 
But this bruised heart that now bleeds in my breast» 
I can feel by its throbbings will soon be at rest. 

O, if I were where happy I ha'e been, 
Down by yon stream and yon bonnie castle-green ; 
For there he is wandering, and musing on me, 
Wha, wad soon dry the tear frae his Phillis's e'e. 

' Hushaby. ' Blessings on, 

» Throat. « Then. 



irt 



^.RA'S HIS HEALTH IN WATER. 
Tune— "The Job of Journey work." 

Although my back be at the wa', 

And though he be the fautor ; ' 
Although my back be at th(3 wa', 

Yet, here 's his health in water ! 
! wae gae by his wanton sides, 

Sae brawlie 's he could flatter; 
Till for his sake I 'm sHghted sair, 

And dree '^ the kintra^ clatter. 
But though my back be at the wa'. 

And though he be the fantor; 
But though my back be at the wa'. 

Yet, here 's his health in water 1 



MT PEGGY'S FACE* 

Tune—" My Peggy's face." 

Mt Peggy's face, my Peggy's form. 
The frost of hermit age might warm ; 
My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind. 
Might ciiarm the first of humankind. 
I love my Peggy's angel air. 
Her face so truly, heavenly fair. 
Her native grace, so void of art. 
But I adore my Peggy's heart. 

The lily's hue, the rose's dye. 
The kindhng lustre of an eye ; 
Who but owns their magic sway ! 
Who but knows they all decay ! 
The tender thrill, the pitying tear, 
The generous purpose, nobl}^ dear. 
The gentle look, that rage disarms— 
These are all immortal charms. 

' Guilty person. ^ Bear. ' Country. 

♦ The heroine of this song was Margaret Chalmers. 



398 

THE CH.iRMING MONTH OF MAY. 

[Altered from an old English song.] 

It was the charming month of May, 
When all the flowers were fresh and gay. 
One morning, by the break of day, 

The youthful, charming Chloe, 
From peaceful slumber she arose, 
Girt on her mantle and her hose, 
And o'er the flowery mead she goes, 

The youthful, charming Ohloe. 

CHORUS. 

Lovely was she by the dawn, 

Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe^ 

Tripping o'er the pearly lawn, 
The youthful, charming Chloe. 

The feathered people you might see 
Perched all around on every tree, 
In notes of sweetest melody. 

They iiail the charming Chloe; 
Till, painting gay the eastern skies. 
The glorious siiu began to rise, 
Out-rivalled by the radiant eyes 

Of youthful, charming Chloe. 
Lovely was she, &c. 



LASSIE Wr THE LINT- WHITE LOCKS. 
Tune — " Rothemurche's Rant." 

CHORUS 

Lassie wi' the lint- white locks, 
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie ! 

Wilt thou wi' me tent ' the flocks P 
Wilt thou be my deaiie, ? 

Now Nature deeds the flowery lea, 
And a' is young and sweet like thee; 
O, wilt thou share its joys wi' me, 
And say thou 'It be my dearie, OP 
Lassie wi', &c. 

> Tend 



MY LADY'S OOWN, THERE'S OAIRS UPON'T. 399 

And wlien the welcome simmer shower 
Han cheered ilk dn opiiitj littli' liower, 
We '11 to the breathing woodl)i:ie bower 
At sultry noon, my dearie, (). 
Lassie wi', &c. 

When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray. 
The weary shearer's ham.eward way; 
Through yellow waving fields we '11 stray. 
And talk o' love, my dearie, O. 
Lassie wi', &c. 

And when the howling wintry blast 
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest. 
Enclasped to my faithful l.reast, 
I '11 comfort thee, my dearie, 0. 

Lassie wi' the lint-white locks, 
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie ! 
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks? 
Wilt thou be my dearie, O ? 



MT LADY'S GOWN, THERE'S GAIRS UPON'T 

Tune — " Gregg's Pipes." 

CHOllUS. 

My lady's gown, there 's gairs ' upon 't. 
And gowden flowers sae rare upon't; 
But Jenny's jimps'' and jirkinet^ 
My lord thinks meikle mair upon 't. 

My lord a-huntiug he has gane, 

But hounds or hawks wi' him are nane : 

By Colin's cottage lies his game. 

If Colin's Jenny be at hame. 

My lady 's white, my lady 's red. 
And kith and kin o" Cassilis' blude; 
But her ten-pund lands o' tocher^ guid 
Were a' the charms his lordship lo'ed. 

Out o'er yon mnir, out o'er yon moss, 
Whare gor-cocks through the heather pass, 
There wons auld Colin's bonnie lass, 
A hly in a wilderness. 

Trimming. * Stays. ^ Boddice. '' Dowry 



400 AMANG THE TREEb, WHERE HUMMING BEES. 

Sae sweetly move her genty limlis, 
Like music-notes o' lovers' hymns .- 
The diamond dew in her eeu sae blue. 
Where laughing love sae wanton swims. 

My lady 's dink,' my lady 's drest, 

The flower and fancy o' the west ; 

But the lassie that a man lo'es best, 

0, that 's the lass to mak' him blest. 

My lady 's gown, there 's gairs upon 't. 
And gowden flowers sae rare upon't; 
But Jenny's jimps and jirkinet 
My lord thinks meikl^ mair tipon 't. 



AJVfA'^^^ THE TEEES, WHEEB HUMMING BEES. 
Tune — " The King of France, he rode a race." 

Amang the trees, where humming bees 

At buds and flowers were hinging, 0, 
Auld Caledon drew out her drone. 

And to her pipe was singing, ; 
'Twas pibroch, sang, strathspey, or reels. 

She dirled them aff fu' clearly, O, 
When there cam' a yell o' foreign squeels. 

That dang her tapsalteerie,^ O. 

Their capon craws and queer ha, ha's, 

They made our Ings ' grow eerie,* ; 
The hungry bike* did scrape and pike,* 

'Till we were wae and weary, O ; 
But a royal ghaist,' wha ance was cased 

A prisoner aughteen year awa,' 
He fired a fiddler in the North 

That dang them tapsalteerie, 0. 



THE G0WDEN8 LOOKS OF ANNA. 

Tune — "Banks of Banna." 

• Yestkeen I had a pint o' wine, 
A place where body saw na' ; 
Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine 
The gowden locks of Anna. 

* Neat. * Knocked her topsy-turvy. '' Bars. 

♦ Weary. * Band. « Pick. 
' Ghost. 8 Golden. 



4i_ 



0, WAT YE WHAT MY MINNIE DID? 4U1 

The hungry Jew in wilderness, 

Eejoicing o'er his manna, 
Was naething to my hinny Hiss 

Upon the lips of Anna. 

Ye monarchs tak' the east and west, 

Frae Indus to Savannah ! 
Gi'e me within my straining grasp 

The melting form of Anna. 
There I '11 despise imperial charms, 

An empress or sultana, 
While dying raptures, in her arir.s, 

I give and take with Anna ! 

Awa', thou flaunting god o' day ! 

Awa', thou pale Diana ! 
Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray. 

When I 'm to meet my Anna. 
Come, in thy raven plumage, Nighfil 

Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a'; 
And bring an angel pen to write 

My transports wi' my Anna ! 



POSTSCRIPT. 

'fhe Kirk and State may join, and tefl 

To do such things I maunna; 
The Kirk and State may gae to lieU^ 

And I '11 gae to my Anna. 
She is the sunshine o' my e'e, — 

To live hut ' her I canna; 
Had I on earth but wishes three, 

The first should be my Anna. 



0, WAT YE WHAT MY MrCTNIE DID? 

O, WAT ye what my Minnie did, 
My Minnie did, my Minnie did — 
O, wat ye what my Minnie did 

On Tysday 'teen to me, jo? 
She laid me in a saft bed, 
A saft bed, a saft lied. 
She laid me in a saft bed, 

And bade gude'en to me, jo. 



Without. 



O D 



-^ 



_iu: 



1U2 M Y NA NNIE V? A \VA '. 

An' wat ye what tlie parson did. 
The parson did, the parson did— 
An' wat ye what the parson did, 

A' for a penny fee, jo ? 
He loosed on me a lang man, 
A mickle man, a strang man, 
He loosed on me a lang man, 

That might ha'e worried me, jo. 

An' I was but a yonng thing, 
A young thing, a young thing — 
An' I was but a young thing, 

Wi' nane to pity me, jo. 
I wat the kirk was in the wyte,' 
In the wyte, in the wyte, 
To pit a yonng thing in a fright, 

An' loose a man on me, jo. 



MY NANNIE'S AWA'.» 

Tune — " There'll never be peace," &c. 

No"W in her green mantle blithe Nature array e. 
And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes, 
While birds warble weLxime in ilka green shaw ; 
But to nie it's dehghtless — my Nannie 's awa'. 

The snawdrap and primrose our woodlands adorn, 
And violets bathe in the weet o' the mora ; 
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, 
They mind me o' Nannie— and Nannie 's awa'. 

Thou hiverock that springs frae the dews o' the lawn, 
The shepherd to warn o' the grey-V.reaking dawn. 
And thou mellow mavis that hails the night fa'. 
Give over for pity — my Nannie's awa'. 

Come, Autimin, sae pensive, in yellow and grey. 
And sootlie nie wi' tidings o' Nature's decay: 
The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw 
Alane can delight me — now Nannie 's awa'. 

' Wrong. 

* Cliuimla (Mrs. M'Lehose) was the Nannie of this ballad. 



^J 



408 
THE LAST BRAW BRIDAL. 

A FRAGMENT. 

The last braw bridal that I -was at, 

'Twas on a Hallowmas day, 
And there was routh o' drink and fun, 

And mickle mirth and play. 
The bells they rang, and the carliiis sang, 

And the dames danced in the ha' : 
The bride went to bed wi' the silly bridegroom 

In the midst o' her kimmers a'. 



HERE'S TO THY HEALTH, MY BONNIE LASS. 
Tune — " Laggan Burn." 

Here 's to thy health, my bonnie lass J 

Guid night, and joy be wi' thee ! 
I 'U come nae mair to thy bower-doofj 

To tell thee that I lo'e thee. 
0, dinna think, my pretty pink. 

But I can live without thee; 
I vow and swear, I dinna care 

How lang ye look about ye. 

Thou 'rt aye sae free informing me 

Thou hast nae mind to marry ; 
I '11 be as free informing thee 

Nae time ha'e I to tan-y. 
I ken thy friends try ilka means 

Frae wedlock to delay thee ; 
Depending on some higher chance — 

But Fortune may betray thee. 

I ken they scorn my low eytate, 

But that does never grieve me ; 
But I 'm as free as any he, — 

Sma' siller will relieve me. 
I '11 count my health my greatest wealth, 

Sae long as I '11 enjoy it ; 
I '11 fear nae scant, I '11 bode nae want. 

As lang 's I get employmei\J, 



a 



404 THE FAREWliLL. 

But far-ofi' fowls ha'e feathers fair, 

And aye until ye try them ; 
Though they seem fair, still have a care, 

They may prove waur than I am. 
But at twal at night, when the moon shines bri^rtit 

My dear, I'll come and see thee; 
For the iTian that lo'es his mistress weal, 

iNae travel makes him weary. 



THE FAREWELL. 
Tune — ** It was a' for our rightfu' king." 

It was a' for our rightfu' king 
We left fair Scotland's strand ; 

It was a' for our rightfu' king 
We e'er saw Irish land, my dear, 
We e'er saw Irish land. 

Now a' is done that men can do, 

And a' is done in vain ; 
My love and native land farewell ! 

For I maun cross the main, mv dear. 

For I maun cross the main. 

He turned him right, and round about, 

Upon the Irish shore ; 
And ga/e his bridle-reins a shake, 

With adieu for evermore, my dear ! 

With adieu for evermore ! 

The sodger frae the wars returns, 

The sailor frae the main ; 
But I ha'e parted IVae my love, 

Never to meet again, my dear, 

Never to meet again. 

When day is gane and night is come. 
And a' folk bound to sleej?, 

I '11 think on him tliat 's far awa' 

The lee-lang night, and weep, my deaXi 
The lee-lang night, and weep. 



IL_ 



■J 



406 

0, STEER HER UP. 

Tune — " 0, steer her up an<l haud her gaun." 

O, STEER her up and hand her gauv, 

Ilor mither 's at the mill, jo ; 
An' gill she wmiia tak' a man, 

E'en let her tak' her will, jo; 
First shore her wi' a kindly kiss, 

And ca' anither gUl, jo ; 
And gin she tak' the thing amiss, 

E'en let her flyte ^ her fill, jo. 

0, steer her up, a^id be na blate, 

An' gin she tak' it ill, jo. 
Then lea'e the lassie till her fate, 

And the time nae langer spill, jo : 
Ne'er break your heart for ae rebute,' 

But think upon it still, jo; 
That gin the lassie winua do't, 

Ye '11 fin' anither will, jo. 



O, AYE MY WIFE SHE DANG MB. 
Tune — " My wife she dang me." 

0, AYE my wife she dang* me, 

An' aft my wife did bang nie; 
If ye gi'e a woman a' her will, 

Glide faith ! she '11 soon o'er-gang ye. 
On peace and rest my mind was bent. 

And fool I was I married ; 
But never honest man's intent 

As cursedly miscarried. 

Some sairie comfort still at last. 

When a' their days are done, man; 
My pains o' hell on earth are past — 

I 'm sure o' bliss aboon, man. 
0, aye my wife she dang me, 

And aft my wife did bang me ; 
If ye gi'e a woman a' her will, 

Gude faith ! she '11 soon o'er-gang ye. 

> Going. * Scold. ^ Rebuff. * Struck 



I 



IN 

40(5 

0. WERT THOU m TFE CAUI.D BLx\ST.> 
Tune — "The Lass o' Livi:i;,fston. 

O, WERT thou in the cauld l)last 

On yonder len,, on yonder lea, 
My pliiidie to the an^ry airt,'"* 

I 'd shelter thee, I 'd shelter thee ; 
Or did misfortune^ bitter storms 

Around thee blavv, around thee blaNV, 
Thy bield ' should be my busom, 

To share it a', to share it a'. 

Or were I in the wildest waste, 

Sae bleak and bare, sae bleak and b.'cre, 
Tlie desert were a jiaradise. 

If thou wert there, if thou wert theie : 
Oi" v/ere I monarch o' the globe, 

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, 
The brightest jewel in my crown 

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen. 



0, WHA IS SHE TPIAT LO'ES MEP 

Tune— "Morag." 

O, wiiA is she that lo'es me, 
And has my iieart a-kceping? 

0, sweet is she that lo'es me. 
As dews o' simmer weeping, 
In tears the rosebuds steeping ! 



0, that 's the lassie o' my heart, 

My lassie ever dearer ; 
0, that's the queen of womankind, 
And ne'er a ane to peer her. 

' Bums composed this exquisite song for Jessie Lewars, the sister of 
his lirother-gauger, Lewars. Mendelssohn has set it to a wonderfully 
beautiful air. - Blast. ' Shelter. 



Ell - fc 



0, LAY THY LOOP IN MINE, LASS. 407 

If tlioii slialt meet a lassie, 

In grace and beauty charming, 
That e'en thy chosen lassie, 

Er. ■while thy breast sae warming, 

Had ne'er sic powers alarming; 
0, that 's, &c. , 

If thon hadst heard her talking, 

And thy attentions plighted, 
Tliat lika ])ody talking 

But her by thee is slighted. 

And thou art all delighted; 
O, that 's, &c. 

If thou hast met this fair one ; 

\^'hen frae her thou hast pai-ted. 
If every other fair one 

But her thou hast deserted, 
And thou art broken-hearted; 

0, that 's the lassie o' my heart, 

iSlj lassie ever dearer ; 
0, that 's the queeH o' womankind. 
And ne'er a ane to peer her. 



O, LAY THY LOOF IN MINE, LASS. 

Tune — " Cordwainer's March." 

0, LAY thy loof ' in mine, lass, 

In mine, lass, in mine, lass, 

And swear on thy white hand, lass. 

That thon wilt be my ain. 
A slave to Love's unbounded sway, 
He aft has wrought me meikle wae ; 
But now he is my deadly fae, 

Unless thou be my ain. 

There 's monie a lass has broke my rest 
That for a blink I ha'e lo'ed best ; 
But thou art queen within my breast, 

For ever to remain. 
O, lay thy loof in mine, lass, 
In mine, lass, in mine, lass ; 
And swear on thy white hand, lass, 

That thou wilt be my aia. 

' Palm- 



& 



408 

THE FETE CHA.MPETRE. 
Tune — " Killiecrankie." 

0, TTiiA will to Saint Stephen's Houses 

To do our errands there, man ? 
0, wha will to Saint Stephen's House^ 

O' th' meiTj lads of Ayr, man ? 
Or will we send a man o' law ? 

Or will we send a sodger ? 
Or him wha led o'er Scotland a' 

The meikle Ursa-Major ? '■ 

Come, will ye court a nol.ile lord; 

Or buy a score o' lairds, man ? 
For worth and honour pawn their word, 

Their vote shall be Glencaird's, man. 
Ane gi'es them coin, ane gi'es them wine, 

Anither gi'es them clatter; 
Annbank, wha guessed the ladies' taste, 

He gi'es a fete champetre. 

When Love and Beauty heard the news 

The gay green-woods amang, man, 
Where, gathering flowers and busking bowers^ 

They heard the blackbird's sang, man ; 
A vow, they sealed it with a kiss, 

Sir Politics to fetter, 
As theirs alone, the i)atent bliss, 

To hold a fete champetre. 

Then mounted Mirth, on gleesome w:.-ig ; 

O'er hill and dale she ilew, man ; 
Hk wimpling burn, ilk crystal spring. 

Ilk glen and shaw she knew, man : 

1 

'/ ' The occasion of this ballad was as follows: — When Mr. Cunning- 

1 hame, of Enterkin, came to his estate, two mansion houses on it, Enterkia 

i and Annbank, were both in a ruinous state. "Wishing to introduce him- 

! self with some ar^nHothe county, he got temporary erections made on the 

! banks of Ayr, tastefully decorated with shrubs ami flowers, for a sapper 

I and ball, to which most of the respectable families in the county were 
! invited. It was a novelty in the county, and attracted much notice. A 
! dissolution of Parliament was soon expected, and this festivity was 
i! thought to be an introduction to a canvass for representing the county. 

II Several other camliilates were spoken of, particu'arly Sir Jolm Whitefoord, 
j! then residing at (Jloucau'd, commonly pronounced Glencaird, and Mr. 
i; Boswell, the well-known biographer of Dr. Johnson. The political views 
I of this festive assemblage, which are alluded to in the ballad, if they evct 
:, existed, were, however, laid aside, as Mr. C. did not canvass the county 

— GiiiBBBX Burns. * Dr. Johnson. 



=_= ^ ^ 



—lie 



HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S A\VA\ 409 

She summoned every social sprite 

That sports by wood or water, 
On the boimy banks of Ayr to meet, 

And keep this fete champetre. 

Cnuld Boreas, wi' his boisterous crew. 

Were bound to stakes Hke kye, man; 
And Cynthia's car, o' silver fu', 

Clamb up the starry sky, man : 
Reflected beams dwell in the streams, 

Or down the current shatter ; 
The western breeze steals through the trees 

To view this fete champetre. 

How many a robe sae gaily floats ! 

What sparkling jewels glance, man. 
To Harmony's enchanting notes. 

As moves the mazy dance, man ! 
The echoing wood, the winding Hood, 

Like Paradise did glitter, 
When angels met, at Adam's yett, 

To hold their fete champetre. 

When PoUtics came there, to mix 

And make his ether-stane, man ! 
He circled round the magic gi-ound, 

But entrance found he nane, man : 
He blushed for shame, he quat his mima, 

Forswore it every letter, 
Wi' humble prayer to join and share 

This festive fete champetre. 



HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEM THAT'S AWA' 



Tune — " Here's a health to them that 's awa'l " 



Here 's a health to them that 's awa' ! 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa' ! 
And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause, 

May never guid luck be their fa' ! 
It 's guid to be merry and wise. 

It "s guid to be honest and true. 
It 's guid to su])port Caledonia's cause, 

Aud bide by the bufl" and the blue. 



410 THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTA'EIiS. 

Here 's a health to tbein that 's awa' ! 

Here 's a health to them that 's a\va" ! 
Here's a health to Charlie ^ the chief" of the clan, 

Although that his baud be but sma' ! 
May Liberty meet wi' success ! 

May Prudence protect her frae evil ! 
May tyrants and tyranny tine in the mist, 

And wander their way to the devil ! 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa' ! 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa' ! 
Here 's a health to Tammie ^ the ITorland laddie, 

That lives at the lug o' the law ! 
Here 's freedom to him that wad read ! 

Here 's freedom to him that wad write ! 
There 's nane ever feared that the truth should be heard 

But they wham the truth wad indite. 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa' ! 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa' ! 
Here 's Chieftain M'Leod,"'* a chieftain worth gowd, 

Though bred amang mountains o' snaw ! 
Here 's a health to them that's awa' ! 

Here 's a health to them that 's awa' ! 
And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause. 

May never guid luck be their fa' ! 



THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS. 
Tune — " Push about the jorum." 

Does haughty Gaul invasion threat? 

Then let the louns beware, sir ! 
There 's wooden walls ujion our seas. 

And volunteers on shore, sir. 
Thi> Nith shall rin to Cor.sincon,^ 

The Criife^ sink in Solway, 
Ere we permit a foreign foe 

On British ground to rally ! 

We '11 ne'er permit a foreign foe 
On British gi'ound to rally. 

' Fox. '•' Thomas Erskine. ^ M'Leod, chief of that clan. 

* Written when the French threatened to invade Britain. 

• If it did, it would run backwards. * A high green mountain. 



IL 



THE WIATER OF LIFE. 4H 

O, let us not, like snarling curs, 

In wrangling be divided ; 
Till, slap ! come in an unco louu, 

And wi' a rung ^ decide it. 
Be Britain still to Britain true, 

Aniang oursel's united; 
For never but by British hands 

Maun British wrangs be righted! 
For never, &c. 

The kettle o' the Kirk and State, 

Perhaps a clout may ftiil in't; 
But de'il a foreign tinkler loun 

Shall ever ca' a nail in 't. 
Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought; 

And wha wad dare to spoil it, 
By heavens ! the sacrilegious dog 

Shall fuel be to boU it! 
By heavens, &c. 

The wretch that wad a tyrant own. 

And the wretch, his true-sworn brother, 
Wha would set the mob aboon the throne, 

May they be damned together ! 
Wha will not sing " God save the King !" 

Shall hang as high 's the steeple; 
But while we sing " God save the Klingl" 
We 'U ne'er forget the People. 
But while we sing, &c. 



THE WINTER OF LIFE. 
Tune — "Gi! Morice." 

But lately seen in glai]s<-me green. 

The woods rejoiced the day ; 
Through gentle showers the laughing tlowera 

In double pride were gay ; 
But now our joys are fled 

On winter blasts awa' ; 
Yet maiden May, in rich array, 

Agani shall bring them a'. 

' Cudgel 



:m 



412 TO MART. 



But my white pow,' nae kindly thowe' 

Shall melt the snaws of age ; 
My trunk of eild,' but * buss * or bield,* 

Sinks in Time's wintry rage. 
O, age has weary days, 

A nd nights o' sleepless pain ! 
Thou golden time o' youthfu' prime, 

Why com'st thou not again ? 



TO MARY. 
Tune — " Could aught of song." 

Could aught of song declare my pains, 

Could artful numbers move thee, 
The Muse should tell, in laboTired strain.. 

O Mary, how I love thee ! 
They who but feign a wounded heart 

May teach the lyre to languish ; 
But what avails the pride of art 

When wastes the soul with anguish P 

Then let the sudden bursting sigh 

The heart- felt pang discover; 
And in the keen, yet tender eye, 

O, read th' imploring lover. 
For well I know thy gentle mind 

Disdains art's gay disguising ; 
Beyond what fancy e'er refined, 

The voice of Nature prizing. 



THE HIGHLAND WIDOW'S LAMENT. 

Oh, I am come to the low countrie, . 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie! 
Without a penny in ray purse 

To buy a meal to me. 

It was na sae in the Highland hills, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Nae woman in the country wide 

Sae liapj)y was as me. 

« Head. ' Thaw. * Age. 

* Without. * Buah. • SlitUtir. 



WELCOME TO GENERAL DUMOURIER. 413 

For then I had a score o' kye, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Feeding on yon hills so high, 

And giving milk to me. 

And there I had threescore o' yowea, 

Och-on, och-ou, och-rie ! 
Skipping on yon bonnie knowes, 

And casting woo' to me. 

I -was the happiest of a' the clan, — 

Sail-, sair may I repine ; 
For Donald was the brawest man. 

And Donald he was mine. 

Till Charlie Stuart cam' at last, 

Sae far to set ns free ; 
My Donald's arm was wanted then 

For Scotland and for me. 

Their waefu'- fate what need I tell P 

Right to the wrang did yield : 
My Donald and his country fell 

Upon GuUoden-field. 

Och-on, Donald, ! _ 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Nae woman iu the warld wide 

Sae wretched now as rae. 



WELCOME TO GENERAL DUMOURTEB. 

[A parody on " Robin Adair."] 

Tou 're welcome to despots, Dumourier ; 
You 're welcome to despots, Dumourier. 
How does Dampiere do ? 
Ay, and Bournonville too ? 
"Why did they not come along with you, Dumourior? 

I will fight France with you, Dumourier; 

I will fight France with you, Dumourier; 
I will fight France with you, 
I wiU take my chance with you ; 
By my soul, I '11 dance a dance with you, Dumourier ! 

Then let us fight about, Dumourier ; 
Then let us fight about, Dumourier; 

Then let us fight about. 

Till freedom's spark is out. 
Then we '11 be damned, no doubt, Dumourier. 



ar 



414 

CALEDONIA. 

Tune — " Caledoiiiun Hunt s deliglit." 

There was once a day, but old Time tlien was yrimg, 

That brtive Caledonia,, the cb-'of of her line. 
From some of" yonr northeru deities sprung, 

(Who knows not tliat brave Caledonia 's divine? ) 
From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain, 

To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would : 
Her heavenly relations there lixed her reign, 

And pledged her their godheads to warrant it good. 

A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war, 

Tiie pride of her kindred, the heroine grew ; 
Her grandsire, old Odiu, triumphantly swore — 

" V/hoe'er shall provoke thee, th' encounter sha.ll rue!" 
"With tillage or pasture at times -she would sport, 

To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn; 
Bul chieliy the woods were hrc fav'rite resort. 

Her darling amusement the hounds and the horn. 

Long quiet she reigned ; till thitherward steers 

A flight of bold eagles from Adria's strand ; ' 
Rejieated, successive, for many long years 

They darkened the air and they plundered the land 
Their pounces were murder, and terror their cry, 

They 'd conquered and ruined a world beside : 
She took to her hills, and her arrows let fly, 

The daring invaders they fled or they died. 

The fell harpy-raven took wing from the north, 

The scourge of the seas, and the dread of the shore;' 
The wild Scandinavian boar issued forth 

To wajiton in carn3p;e and wallow in gore : ^ 
O'er countries and kingdoms their fury prevailed; 

No arts could appe iso them, no arms could repel; 
But brave Caledonia in vain they assailed, 

As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell.* 

The Cameleon-savage disturbed her repose. 
With tumult, disquiet, rebellion, and strife; 

Provoked beyond bearing, at last she arose. 

And robbed him at once of his hopes and hia life : • 

The Romans. " The Saxons. ■' The Danes. _ 

Two famous battles, in which the Danes, or Si'orwegians, were defented 
The Picts. 



IS THERE, FOR HONEST POVERTY. 415 

The Aiiqlian lion, the terrox- of France, 

Oft prDwling, ensangnincd the Tvveed'y silver flood; 

But, taught ijy the bright Caledonian lance, 
He learned to fear in his own native wood. 

Thus bold, independent, unconquered, and free. 

Her bright coui'se of glory for ever shall run : 
For brave Caledonia immortal must be ; 

I '11 jjrove it from Euclid as clear as the sun : — 
Rectangle-triangle the figure we'll choose; 

The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base; 
But brave Caledonia 's the hypothenuse ; 

Then ergo, she'll match them, and match thern always.' 



IS THERE, FOR HONEST POVERTY. 
Tune — " For a' that and a' that." 

Is there, for honest poverty. 

That hangs his head, and a' that; 
The coward-slave, we pass him by. 

We dare be poor for a' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Our toil 's obscure, and a' that ; 
The rank is but the guinea's ;t;imp, 

The man's the gowd for a' that. 

What though on hamely fare wc dine, 

Wear hodJin grey, and a' thnt; 
Gi'e fools their silks, and knaves their wine, 

A man 's a man for a' that ; 
For a' that, and a' that, 

Their tinsel show, and a' that ; 
The honest man, though e'er sae poor. 

Is king o' men for a' that. 

Ye see yon birkie,' ca'd a lord, 

Wha stnits, and stares, and a' that; 
Though hundreds worship at his word. 

He 's but a coof ^ for a' that : 
For a' that, and a' that. 

His riband, star, and a' that: 
The man of independent mind. 

He looks and laughs at a' that. 

' This singular fijiure of poetry, taken from the matheinatics, refers tc 
"ihe famous proposition of Pythagoras, the 47th of Euclid. In a right- 
angled triangle, the square of the hypothenuse is always equal to tb< 
squares of the two other sides. 

" Spirited fellow- » Fool, 



¥ 



416 LASSIE, ART THOTt SLEEPING YET 2 

A prince can mak' a belted knight, 

A marquis, duke, and a' that ; 
But an hone.^t man 's abocn liis might— 

Gnid faith he mauna fa' * that! 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Their dignities, and a' that, 
The pith o' sense and pride o' worth 

Are higher ranks than a' that. 

Then let us pray that come it may. 

As come it will for a' that, 
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth. 

May bear the gree,^ and a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that, 

It 's coming yet, for a' that. 
That man to man, the warld o'er. 

Shall brothers be for a' that. 



O LASSIE, AET THOU SLEEPING TETP 

Tune^" Let me in this ae night." 

LASSIE, art thou sleeping yet? 
Or art thou wakin', I would wit? 
For love has bound me hand and foot, 
And I would fain be in, jo. 

CHORUS. 

O, let me in this ae night, 

This ae, ae, ae night, 
For pity's sake this ae night; 

0, rise and let me in, jo. 

Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet, 
Nae star blinks through the driving sleet; 
Tak' pity on my weary feet, 
And shield me frae the rain, jo. 
0, let me in, &c. 

The bitter blast that round me blaws. 
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's ; 
The cauldness o' thy heart 's the cause 
Of a' my grief and pain, jo. 
O, let me in, &c. 

» Try. » Palm. 



4J7 



HER ANSWER. 

O, TELL na me o' wind and rain ! 
Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain ! 
Gae back the gate ye cam' again, 
I winna let you in, jo. 

CHORUS. 

I tell jon now this ae night, 

This ae, ae, ae night, 
And ance for a' this ae night, 

I winna let you in, jo. 

The snellest ' blast, at mirkest hours. 
That round the pathless wanderer pour.3, 
Is nocht to what poor she endures 
That 's trusted faithless man, jo. 
I tell you now, &c. 

The sweetest flower that decked the mead, 

Now trodden like the vHest weed : 

Let simple maid the lesson read, 

The weird may be her ain, jo. 

I tell you now, &c. 

The bird that charmed his summer-day. 
Is now the cruel fowler's prey : 
Let ^witless, trusting woman say 
How aft her fate 's the same, jo. 
I tell you now, &c. 



BONNIE PEG-A-RAMSAY. 
Tune — " Cauld is the e'enin' blast." 

Cauld is the e'eniu' blast 
0' Boreas o'er the pool. 

And dawin' it is dreary 

When birks are bare at Yule. 

O, cauld blaws the e'enin' blast 
When bitter bites the frost, 

And in the mirk and dreary drift 
The hiUs and glens are lost. 



Sharpest. 



B B 



418 THERE WAS A BONNIE LASS. 

Ne'er sae murky blew the night 
That drifted o'er the hill, 

But bonnie Peg-a-Ramsay 
Gat grist to her mill. 



THERE WAS A BONNIE LASS. 

[an unfinished sketch.] 

Tfieke was a bonnie lass, 
And a bonnie, bonnie lass, 

And she lo'ed her bonnie laddie dear; 
Till war's loud alai-ms 
Tore her laddie frae her arms, 

Wi' mony a sigh and a tear. 

Over sea, over shore. 

Where the cannons loudly roar. 
He stiM was a stranger to fear ; 

And nocht could him quail, 

Or his bosom assail, 
But the bonnie lass he lo'ed sae dear. 



O, MALLY'S MEEK, MALLT'S SWEET. 

As I was walking up the street, 

A barefit maid I chanced to meet; 
But 0, the road was very hard 
For that fair maiden's tender feet. 
O, Mally 's meek, Mally 's sweet, 

Mally 's modest and discreet, 
Mally 's rare, Mally 's fair, 
Mally 's every way complete. 

It were mair meet that those fine feet 
Were weel laced up in silken shoon, 

And 'twere more fit that she should sit 
Within yon chariot gilt aboon. 

Her yellow hair, beyond compare. 

Comes trinlding down her swan- white neckj 
And her two eyes, like stars in skies, 
Would keep a sinking shijo frae wreck. 
0, Mally 's meek, Mally 's sweet, 

Mally 's modest and discreet, 
Mally 's rare, Mally 's fair, 
Mally 's every way complete. 



419 



ADDEESS TO THE WOODLARK. 

Tune—" Where '11 bonnie Ann lie ? " or " Loch-Eroch side.* 

O, STAY, sweet warbling woodlark, stay, 
Nor quit me for the trembling spray ; 
A hapless lover courts thy lay,^ 
Thy soothing, fond complaining. 

Again, again that tender part, 
That I may catch thy melting art; 
For surely that wad touch her heart 
Wha kills me wi' disdaining. 

Say, was thy little mate unliind, 
And heard thee as the careless wind? 
O, nocht but love and sorrow joined, 
Sic notes o' woe could wauken. 

Tliou tells o' never-ending care, 
0' speechless grief, and dark despair; 
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair! 
Or my poor heart is broken ! 



ON CHLORIS BEING ILL. 

Tune — '• Aye wakin', 0." 

CHORUS. 

Long, long the night, 

Heavy comes the morrow, 

While my soul's delight 
Is on her bed of sorrow. 

Can I cease to care ? 

Can I cease to langmsh. 
While my darling fair 

Is on the couch of anguish P 
Long, &c. 

Every hope is fled. 

Every fear is terror ; 
Slumber ev'n I dread, 

Every dream is horror. 
Long, &c. 



a 



^ 



42t> THEIR GROVES 0' SWEET MYRTLE, 

Hear me, Powers divine ! 

O, in pity hear me ! 
Take aught else of mine, 

But my Ohloris spare me 1 
Long, &c 



THEIR GROVES 0' SWEET MYRTLE. 
Tune—*' Humours of Glen." 

Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, 
Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume, 

Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, 
Wi' the bum stealing under the lang yellow broom. 

Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, 

Where the bluebell and gowan lurk lowly unseen ; 
?or there, Lightly tripping amang the wild flowers, 
A-listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. 

Though rich is the breeze in their gay sunny valleys. 

And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave; 
Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud palace, 

What are they ? The ha.unt of the tyrant and slave ! 

The slave's spicy forests, and gold-biibbling fountains, 

The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain ; 
He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains. 

Save Love's willing fetters, the chains o' his Jean. 



'TWAS NA HER BONNIE BLUE E'B. 

Tune — " Laddie, lie near me." 

'TwAS na her bonnie blue e'e was my ruin ; 
Fair though she be, that was ne'er my undoing: 
'Twas the dear smile when nacbody did mind us, — 
'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stovvn glance o' kindness. 

Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, 
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me ; 
But though fell fortune should fate us to sever. 
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever. 



-ITl 



HOW CRUEL ARE THE PARENTS. 421 

Mary, T 'm thine wi' a passion sincerest, 
And tliou hast i)]ightcd ine, love, the dearest I 
And thou 'rt the angel that never can alter,— 
Sooner the sun in his motion would falter. 



HOW CEUEL ARE THE PARENTS. 

[Altered from an old English song.] 
Tune — " John Anderson my jo." 

How cruel are the parents, 

Who riches only prize, 
And to the wealthy booby 

Poor woman sacrifice. 
Meanwhile the hapless daughter 

Has but a choice of strife ; 
To shun a tyrant father's hate, 

Become a wretched wife. 

The ravening hawk pursuing, 

The trembling dove thus tiiea, 
To shun impelling ruin 

A while her pinions tries ; 
Till of escape despairing, 

No shelter or retreat, 
She trusts the ruthless falconer. 

And drops beneath his feet. 



MARK YONDER POMP. 

Tune — " De'il tak' the wars." 

Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion. 
Round the wealthy titled bride; 

But when compared with real passion. 
Poor is all that princely pride. 
What are the showy treasures? 
What are the noisy pleasures ? 

The gay gaudy glare of vauity and artP 
The polished jewel's blaze 
May draw the wondering gaze. 
And courtly grandeur bright 
The fancy my delight, 

But never, never can come near the heart- 



422 MY AIN LASSIE. 

But did you see my dearest .Chioris 

In simplicity's array ? 
Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower ig, 
Shrinking from the gaze of day. 
O, then, the heart alarming, 
And all resistless charming, 
7ti Love's delightful fetters she chains the willing soul' 
Ambition would disown 
The world's imperial crown, — 
Even Avarice would deny 
His worshipped deity, 
A.nd feel through every vein Love's raptures roU. 



MY AIN LASSIE. 
Tune — " This is no my ain bousa." 



0, THIS is no my ain lassie. 
Fair though the lassie be; 

0, weel ken I my ain lassie,— 
Kind love is in her e'e. 

I see a form, I see a face, 
Ye weel may wi' the fairest place: 
It wants, to me, the witching grac 
The kind love that 's in her e'e. 
O, this is no, &c. 

She 's bonnie, blooming, straight, and tall. 
And lang has had my heart in thrall; 
And aye it charms my very saul. 
The kind love that 's in her e'e. 
0, this is no, &c. 

A thief sae pawkie ' is my Jean, 
To steal a blink, by a' unseen ; 
But gleg* as light are lovers' een. 
When kind love is in the e'e. 
0, this is no, &o. 

It may escape the courtly sparks, 
It may escape the learned clerlv-s ; 
But weel the watching lover marks 
The kind love that 's in her e'e. 
0, this is no, &c. 
Sly- * Sharp, 



Jl 

423 

NOW SPEING HAS CLAD THE GEO YE IN GEE EN. 

Now spring has clad the grove in green. 

And strewed the lea wi 'lowers ; 
The furrowed waving corn is seen 

Eejoice in fostering showers ; 
While ilka thing in nature join 

Their sorrows to forego, 
0, why thus all alone are mine 

The weary steps of woe ? 

The trout mthin yon wimpling bnm 

Glides swift, a silver dart, 
And safe beneath the shady thorn 

Defies the angler's art : 
My life was ance that careless streani. 

That wanton trout was I; 
But Love, wi' unrelenting beam, 

Has scorched my fountains dry. 

The little floweret's peaceful lot, 

In yonder cliff that grows, 
Which, save the Unnefs flight, I wot, 

Nae ruder visit knows. 
Was mine ; till Love has o'er me past, 

And blighted a' my bloom, 
And now beneath the withering blast 

My youth and joy consume. 

The wakened laverock warbhng springs. 

And climbs the early sky. 
Winnowing blithe her dewy wings 

In morning's rosy eye; 
As little reckt I sorrow's power, 

Until the flowery snare 
0' witching Love, in luckless hour. 

Made me the thrall o' care. 

O, had my fate been Greenland snows. 

Or Afric's burning zone, 
Wi' man and nature leagued my foes. 

So Peggy ne'er I 'd known ! 
The wretch whase doom is, " Hope nae mair," 

What tongue his woes can tell ! 
Within whase bosom, save Despair, 

Nae kinder spirits dwell ! 



-tJ 



424 

O, BONNIE WAS YON ROSY BRIEB. 

O, BONNIE was yon rosy brier, 
That blooms sae far frae haunt o' man ; 

And bonnie she, and ah, how dear ! 
It shaded frae the e'enin' sun. 

Yon rosebuds in the morning dew, 

How pure amang the leaves sae green ; 

But purer was the lover's vow 

They witnessed in their shade yestreen. 

• AU in its rude and prickly bower, 

That crimson rose, how sweet and fair 1 
But love is far a sweeter flower 
Amid life's thorny path o' care. 

The pathless wild and wimpling bum, 
Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine ; 

And I the world, nor wish nor scorn, 
Its joys and griefs alike resign. 

FORLORN, MY LOVE, NO COMFORT NEAR. 

Tune — *' Let me in this ae night." 

FoRLOKN, my love, no comfort near. 
Far, far from thee, I wander here ; 
Far, far from thee — the fate severe 
At which I most repine, love. 

CHOBUS. 

0, wert thou, love, but near me, 
But near, near, near me ; 
How kindly thou wouldst cheer me, 
And mingle sighs with mine, love I 

Around me scowls a wintry sky, 
That blasts each bud of hope and joy ; 
And shelter, shade, nor home have I, 
Save in those arms of thine, love. 
0, wert, &c. 

Cold, altered Friendship's cruel part, 

To poison Fortune's ruthless dart — 

Let me not break thy faithful heart* 

And say that fate is mine, love. 

O, wert, &c. 



*7r= 



3 



LAST MAT A BRAW WOOER. 426 

But, dreary though the moments fleet, 
0, let me think we yet shall meet I 
That only ray of solace sweet 
Can on thy Chloris shine, love. 
O, wert, &c. 



LAST MAT A BEAW WOOEE. 

Tune — " The Lothian lassie." 

Last May a braw wooer cam' down the lang glen. 
And sair wi' his love he did deave ' me ; 

I said there was naething I hated like men,— 
The deuce gae wi'm to believe me, believe me ! 
The deuce gae wi'm to believe me ! 

He spak' o' the darts in my bonnie black een. 

And vowed for my love he was dying ; 
I said he might die when he liked, for Jean,— 

The Lord f rgi'e me for lying, for lying ! 

The Lord forgi'e me for lying 1 

A weel-stocked mailen,* himsel' for the laird. 
And marriage aff-hand, were his proflPers : 

I never loot on that I kenned it, or cared. 

But thought I might ha'e waur offers, waur offers, 
But thought I might ha'e waur offers. 

But what wad ye think ? in a fortnight or less — 
The de'il tak' his taste to gae near her ! 

He up the lang loan ^ to my black cousin Bess, — 

Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her, could bear hei, 
G uess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her. 

But a' the niest week, as I fretted vd' care, 

I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock, 
And wha but my fine fickle lover was there ! — 

I glow'red as I 'd seen a warlock, a warlock, 

I glow'red as I 'd seen a warlock. 

But owre my left shouther I ga'e him a blink. 

Lest ueebors might say I was saucy ; 
My wooer he capered as he 'd been in drink, 

And vowed I was bis dear lassie, dear lassie. 

And vowed I was his dear lassie. 

' Deafen. * Farm. 

■"" Long lane : in the original MS. Gateslack— a passage among the 
Lowtber hills- 



c 



i2n cniORis. 

I siiiered ' for aiy consiii fu' couthy and sweet, 
(Jin slie li \'\ ircovered her hearin', 

And how my iuild shoon''' suited her shanckled feet,- 
Gude save us; how he fell a-sweaiin', a-swearin' 
Glide save r.s ! how he fell a-swtariu' ! 

Hs begged, for Gudesake, I wad be his wife, 
Or else I wad kill him wi' son-ow : 

So, e'en to preserve the poor body in life, 

I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow, 
I think I maun wed him to-morrow. 



CHLOEIS. 

[a fkagment.] 

Tune—" The Caledonian Hunt's Deliglit.** 

Why, why tell thy lover 

Bliss he never must enjoy ? 
Why, why undeceive him, 

And give all his hopes the lie? 

0, why, while Fancy, raptured, slumbers, 
Chloris, Chloris all the theme, 

Why, why wouldst thou, cruel, 
Wake thy lover from his dream P 



O, WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO YOU. 

O, WHISTLE, and I '11 come to you, my lad, 
O, whistle, and I 'U come to you, my lad ; 
Though father and mither and a' should gae mad, 
0, whistle, and I '11 come to you, my lad. 

But warily tent when you come to court me, 

And come na unless the back-yefct be a-jee ; 

Syne Tip the back-stile, and let naebody see. 

And come as ye were na comin' to me, 

And come as ye were na comin' to me. 

At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me, 
Gang by me as though that ye cared na a flie; 
But steal me a blink o' your bonnie black e'e, 
Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me, 
Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me. 

Inquired. * Old shoe {i.e. slang for an old lover). 



ADOWN WINDING NITH. 427 

Aye vow and protest that ye care na I'or me, 
And whyles ye may lightly my beauty a wee : 
But court na anither, though jokin' ye be, 
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me, 
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me. 
O, whistle, and I '11 come to you, my lad, 
O, whistle, and I '11 come to you, my lad ; 
Though father and mither and a' should gae mad, 
O, whistle, and I '11 come to you, my lad. 



ADOWN WINDING NITH. 

Tune - " The muckin of Geordie's byre." 

Adown winding Nith I did wander. 

To mark the sweet flowers as they spring; 
Adown winding Kith I did wander, 
Of Phillis to muse and to sing. 

Awa' wi' your belles and your beauties! 

They never wi' her can compare : 
Whaever has met wi' my Phillis ' 
Has met wi' the queen o' the fair. 

The daisy amused my fond fancy, 

8o artless, so simple, so wild; 
Thou emblem, said I, o' my PhUlis, 

For she is simpUcity's child. 

The rosebud 's the blush o' my charmer, 

Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest; 
Hiw fair and how pure is the lily, 
But fairer and purer her breast ! 

Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour. 

They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie: 
Her breath is the breath o' the woodbine. 

Its dewdrop o' diamond her eye. 

Her voice is the song of the morning, 

I'hat wakes through the green-spreading grove 

^^'llen Phcebus peeps over the mountains, 
On music, and pleasure, and love. 

But beauty, how frail and how fleeting ! 

The bloom of a fine summer's day ! 
While worth in the mind o' my PhilUs 
Will flourish without a decay 

' lY\»i Philadelphia McMurdo, his "Phillis the Fair,' 



428 TEE RUINED MAID'S LAMENT. 

Awa' wi' your belles and your beauties! 

They never wi' her can compare : 
Whaever has met wi' my Phillis 

Has met wi' the queen o' the fair. 



THE RUINED MAID'S LAMENT. 

O, MEiKLE do I rue, fause love, 

O, sairly do I rue 
That e'er I heard your flattering tongue^ 

That e'er your face I knew. 

0, I ha'e tiat ' my rosy cheeks, 

Likewise my waist sae sma' ; 
And I ha'e lost my lightsome heart. 

That little wist a fa'. 

Now I maun thole* the scornful sneer 

0' mony a saucy quean ; 
When, gin the truth were a' but kent,* 

Her life 's been waur than mine. 

"Whene'er my father thinks on me, 

He stares into the wa' ; 
My mither, she has ta'en the bed 

Wi' thinking on my fa'. 

Whene'er I hear my father's foot, 
My heart wad burst wi' pain ; 

Whene'er I meet my mither' s e'e 
My tears rin down like rain. 

Alas ! sae sweet a tree as love 

Sic bitter fruit should bear ! 
Alas ! that e'er a bonnie face 

Should draw a sauty tear ! 

But Heaven's curse will blast the man. 

Denies the bairn he got ; 
Or leaves the painfu' lass he loved 
• To wear a ragged coat. 

lK»st ^ Bear, endure. ' Knowu. 






42d 

SONG. 

Tune — " Maggy Lauder." 

Wh'BN first I saw fair Jeanie's face 

I couldna tell what ailed me ; 
Itly heart went fluttering pit-a-pat, 

My een they almost failed me. 
She 's aye sae neat, sae trim, sae tight. 

All grace does round her hover, 
Ae look deprived me o' my heart. 
And I became a lover. 

She 's aye, aye sae blithe, sae gay, 

She 's aye sae blithe and cheeiie; 
She 's aye sae bonnie, blithe, and gay, 
O, gin I were her dearie ! 

Had I Dundas's whole estate. 

Or Hopetoun's wealth to shine in— 
Did warlike laurels crown my brow, 

Or humbler bays entwining^ 
I 'd lay them a' at Jeanie's feet. 

Could I but hope to move her, 
And, prouder than a belted knight, 

I 'd be my Jeanie's lover. 

She 's aye, aye sae blithe, sae gay, &0. 

But sair I fear some happier swain 

Has gained sweet Jeanie's favour 
If so, may every bliss be hers, 

Though I maun never have her ! 
But gang she east, or gang she west, 

'Twixt Forth and Tweed all over. 
While men have eyes, or ears, or taste, 

She '11 always find a lover. 

She 's aye, aye sae blithe, sae gay, &A 



HER FLOWING LOCKS. 

Her flowing locks, the raven's wing, 
Adown her neck and bosom hing; 
How sweet unto that breast to ciing. 
And round that neck entwine her I 

Her lips are roses wat wi' dew, 
O, what a feast her bonnie mou' 1 
Her cheeks a mair celestial hue, 
^ crimson still diviner. 



F 

430 



THE DISCREET HINT. 
Tune unknown. 

•* Lass, when your mitlier is frae hamef 

May I but be sae bauld 
As come to your bower window, 

And creep in frae the cauld ? 
As come to your bower window, 

And when it 's cold and wat, 
Warm me in thy fair bosom,^ 

Sweet lass, may I do that ? " 

** Young man, gin ye should ba sae kind. 

When our gudewife's frae hame. 
As come to my bower window, 

Whare I am laid my lane. 
To warm thee in my bosom, — 

Tak' tent, I '11 teU thee what. 
The way to me lies through the kirk,— 

Young man, do ye hear that ? " 



DELUDED SWAIN, THE PLEASURE. 
Tune — "The Collier's Bonnie Lassie." 

Deluded swain, the pleasure 
The fickle Fair can give thee. 

Is but a fairy treasure. 
Thy hopes wiU soon deceive tbee. 

The billows on the ocean. 

The breezes idly roaming, 
The clouds' uncertain motion, 

They are but types of women. 

! art thou not ashamed 

To doat upon a feature ? 
If man thou wouldst be named. 

Despise the silly creature. 

Go, find an honest fellow ; 

Grood claret set before thee: 
Hold on till thou art mellow. 

And then to bed in glory. 



n 



431 

FAREWELL, THOU STREAM! 

Tune — " Nanny 'b to the greenwood gane." 

Farewell, thou stream that winding flowg 
Around Eliza's dwelling ! 

Mem'ry ! spare the cruel throes 
Within my bosom swelling : 

Condemned to drag a ho]ieless ofaaillt 

And yet in secret languish. 
To feel a fire in every vein, 

Nor dare disclose my anguish. 

Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown, 

I fain my griefs would cover : 
The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan. 

Betray the hapless lover. 

1 know thou doom'st me to despair, 
Nor wilt, nor canst relieve me ; 

But oh ! Eliza, hear one prayer,— 
For pity's sake forgive me ! 

The music of thy voice I heard, 

Nor wist while it enslaved me ; 
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing feared. 

Till fears no more had saved me : 
Th' unwary sailor, thus aghast, 

The wheeling torrent viewing, 
'Mid circling horrors sinks at last 

In overwhelming ruin. 



HEY FOR A LASS WI' A TOCHER I 

Tune — " Balinamona ora." 

Aw a' wi' your \vitchcraft o' beauty's alarms. 
The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms I 
O, gi'e me the lass that has acres o' charms, 
O, gi'e me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms. 

CHORUS. 

Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher ' then hey for a 

lass wi' a tocher ! 
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher ! the nice yellow 

guineas for me.. 



432 MT AIN KIND DEARIE, 0. 

Your beauty 's a flower in the morning that blows, 
And withers the faster the faster it grows ; 
But the rapturous charm o' the bonnie green knowes, 
Ilk spring they 're new deckit wi' bonnie white yowea. 
Then hey, &c. 

And e'en when this beauty your bosom has blest, 
The brightest o' beauty may cloy, when possest ; 
But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Geordie imprest, 
The langer ye ha'e them, the mair they 're carest. 
Then hey, &fc. 



MT AIN KIND DEARIE, 01 
, Tune — " The Lea-rig." 

When o'er the hill the eastern star 

Tells bughtin'-time ' is near, my jo; 
And owsen* frae the furrowed field 

Return sae dowf * and weary, ! 
Down by the burn, where scented birks* 

Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo, 
I 'U meet thee on the lea-rig. 

My ain kind dearie, O ! 

In mirkest glen, at midnight hour. 

I 'd rove, and ne'er be eerie, 0, 
If through that glen I gaed to thee, 

My ain kind dearie, O ! 
Although the night were ne'er sae wild* 

And I were ne'er sae wearie, O, 
I 'd meet thee on the lea-rig. 

My ain kind dearie. O ! 

The hunter lo'es the morning sun, 

To rouse the mountain deer, my jo; 
At noon the fisher seeks the glen, 

Along the burn to steer, my jo ; 
Gi'e me the hour o' gloaming * grey, — 

It makes my heart sae cheery, O, 
To meet thee on the lea-rig. 

My ain kind dearie, ! 

' Time of collecting the sheep in the pens to be milked. 

^ Ox«n. ' Weak. ^ Birches. ' Twilight 



433 



MY LOYELY NANOT. 
Tune — •' The Quaker's wife." 

Thine am I, my faithful fair. 
Thine, my lovely Nancy ; 

Every pulse along my veins. 
Every roving fancy. 

To thy bosom lay my heart, 
There to throb and languish : 

Though despair had wrung its '.lore^ 
That would heal its anguish. 

Take away those rosy lips. 
Rich with balmy treasure : 

Turn away thine eyes of love. 
Lest I die with pleasure. 

What is life when wanting Icve ? 

Night without a morning : 
Love 's the cloudless summer srji. 

Nature gay adorning. 



CA' THE YOWES TO THE KN0WE3. 

CHORUS. 

Ca' the yowes to the knowes, 
Ca' them whare the heather growea 
Ca' them whare the burnie rowes, 
My bonnie dearie. 

Hark, the mavis' evening sang 
Sounding Clouden's ' woods amang ; 
Then a-faulding let us gang, 
My bonnie dearie. 
Ca' the, &c. 

"We '11 gae down by Olouden side. 
Through the hazels spreading wide. 
O'er the waves that sweetly gUde 
To the moon sae clearly. 
Ca' the, &c. 

The River Clouden, or CluJen, a tributary stream to the Nith 

V T 



■i^ JES8T. 



Tonder Clouden's silent towers. 
Where at moonshiQe miduiglit hoara^ 
O'er the dewy bending flowers, 
Fairies dance sae cheerjr. 
Ca' the, &c. 

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou tear; 
Thou 'rt to love and heaven sae dear, 
Nocht of ill may come thee near, 
My bonnie dearie. 
Ca' the, &c. 

Fair and lovely as thou art, 
Thou hast stown my very heart ( 
I can die — but canna part. 
My bonnie dearie. 
Ca' the. &c. 



JESSY.! 

CHORUS. 

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear. 

Here 's a health to ane I lo'e dear; 

Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers mee1« 

And soft as their parting tear — Jessy ) 

Although thou maun never be mine. 

Although even hope is denied ; 
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing, 

Than aught in the world beside — Jessy \ 
Here 's a health, &c. 

I mourn through the gay, gaudy day, 

As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms ; 
But welcome the dream o' sweet slumbei-, 

For then I am locked in thy arms — Jeasy 1 
Here 's a health, &c. 

I guess by the dear angel smile, 

I guess by the love-rolling e'e : 
But why urge the tender confession 

'Gainst fortune's fell cruel decree — Jessy I 
Here 's a health, &c. 

' Jessy Lewars, who nursed him during his last illnesa 



-31 



435 



A EED, EED EOSE. 

[Tins song was an improvement of a street ballad, which is said to 
have been written by a Lieutenant Hinches, as a farewell to his betrothed.] 

Tune — " Graham's Strathspey." 

O, MY luve 's like a red, red rose, 
That 's newly sprung in June : 

0, my lave 's like the melodic 
That 's sweetly played in tune. 

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 

So deep in luve am I ; 
And I will luve thee still my dear. 

Till a' the seas gang dry. 

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear. 
And the rocks melt wi' the sun : 

\ will luve thee still, my dear, 
While the sands o' life shall r'ln. 

And fare thee weel, my only iuve ! 

And fare thee weel a while ! 
And I will come again, my luve, 

Though it were ten thousand mile. 



FAIEEST MAID ON DEVON BANKS.* 
Tune—" Rothemurche." 

CHORTJS. 

Faikest maid on Devon bank?, 
Crystal Devon, winding Devon, 

Wilt thou lay that frown aside, 

And smile as thou were wont to do P 

Full well thou know'st I love thee dear, 
Couldst thou to malice lend an ear ! 
O, did not love exclaim, " Forbear, 
Nor use a faithful lover so." 
Fairest maid, &c. 

' The last song composed by Burns. It was sent to Thomson, July 12, 
1796. The Foeb died the 21st. of the same mouth. 






r^ 



43'J CRAIOIE-BURN WOOD 

Then come, thon fairest of the fair. 
Those wonted smiles, O let me sltsre; 
And by thy beauteous self I swsir, 
No love but thine my heart bwall know. 
Fairest maid, &c.' 



CRAIGIE-BUEN V^OOD.» 

Sweet fa's the eve on CxJiigie-Bum, 

And blithe awakes tho morrow, , 

But a' the pride o' spriu;f's return 
Can yield me nocht brit sorrow. 

I see the flowers and spreading trees, 

I hear the wild birdf singing; 
But what a weary wijjfat can please, 

And care his bosom wringing ? 

Fain, fain would I n ly griefs impart, 

Yet dare na for your anger ; 
But secret love wiD break my heart 

If I conceal it langer. 

If thou refuse to pity me, 

If thou shalt love anither, 
When yon green leaves fade frae the tree, 

Around my grave they '11 wither. 

■ These verses, and the letter enclosing them, are written in a charactei 
that marks the very feeble state of Burns's bodily strength. He was, in 
fact, ilying. "In this song," says Alan Cunningham, — the last he was 
to measure in this world — ' ' his thoughts wandered to Charlotte Hamilton 
and the banks of the Devon." 

■■^ Craigie-Burn Wood is situated on the banks of the River Moffat, and 
»bout three miles distant from the village of that name, celebrated for its 
meiii inal waters. The woods of Craigie-Buin and of Dunicrief were at 
one time favourite haunts of Burns. It was there he met the " lassie wi' 
the lint-white locks," and where he conceived several of his beautiful lyrica. 



rj 



JT 



ni 



-J 



iatxres* 



THE HOLY FAIR. 

*A Tobe of seeming truth and trust 

Hid crafty Observation ; 
And secret bung, with poisoned crn3\ 

The dirk of Defamation : 
A mask that like the gorget showed, 

Dye varying on the pigeon ; 
And for a mantle large and broad, 

He wrapt him in Religion." — Hypocrisy d, la Mode, 



Upon a simmer Sunday mora, 

When Nature's face is fair, 
I wallced forth to view tte corn, 

And snuif the caller ' air. 
The rising sun owre Galston * muira, 

Wi' glorious light was glintin'; "' 
The hares were hirplin' * down the furs ; • 

The laverocks they were chantin' 
Fu' sweet that day. 

As lightsomely I glowred* abroad. 

To see a scene sae gay. 
Three hizzies, early at the road, 

Cam' skelpin' up the way ; 
Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black. 

But ane wi' lyart ' lining ; 
The third, that gaed a-wee aback, 

Was in the fashion shining, 
Fu' gay that day. 

The twa appeared like sisters t^v^n, 

In feature, form, an' claes ; ** 
Their visage withered, lang, an' thin, 

An' sour as ony slaes : 

* Fresh. ' Adjoining parish to Mauchline. 

• Glancing, * Limping. * Fun-owa, 
' Looked, ' Grey. * Clothes. 



438 THE HOLT FAIR. 

The third cam' up, hap-step-an'-lowp^ 

As light as ony lambie, 
An' wi' a curchie low did stoop, 

As soon as e'er she saw me, 
Fa' kind that day. 

Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, " Sweet lass, 

I think ye seem to ken me ; 
I'm sure I 've seen that bonnie face, 

But yet I canna name ye.'" 
Quo' she, an' laughin' as she spak'. 
An' tak's me by the hands, 
" Ye, for my sake, ha'e gi'en the feck * 
Of a' the Ten Commands 

A screed ^ some day. 

** My name is Fun — your cronie dear, 
The nearest friend ye ha'e ; 
An' this is Superstition here, 

An' that 's Hypocrisy. 
I m gaun to Mauchline Holy Fair, 

1 o spend an hour in daffin' : •' 
Gin ye '11 go there, yon runkled pair. 
We will get famous laughin' 
At them this day." 

Quoth I, " With a' my heart I '11 do % 

I '11 get my Sunday's sark* on. 
An' meet you on the holy spot ; 

Faith, we'se ha'e fine remarkin' ! " 
Then I gaed hame at crowdie ^-time 

An' soon I made me ready ; 
For roads were clad, frae side to side, 

Wi' monie a wearie body. 

In droves that day. 

Here farmers gash,® in ridin' graith,' 

Gaed hoddin'^ by their cotters ; 
Thei-e, swankies ^ young, in braw braid-claith,. 

Are springin' o'er the gutters. 
The lasses, skelpin' barefit, thrang. 

In silks an' scarlets glitter ; 
Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in monie a whang, 

An' farls '" baked wi' butter, 

Fu' crump ' ' that day. 

' Most. * A rent. ^ Sporting, 

• Shirt. * Breakfast. ** Sensible. 

' Dress. • Jogging. ® Striplings. 

' Oaten cakea. " Crisp. 






THE HOLY FAIR. 439 

When by the plate we set onr nose, 

Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence, 
A greedy glower Black Bonnet throws, 

An' we maun draw our tippence. 
Then in we go to see the show, 

On every side they 're gatherin'. 
Some carrying dales,' some chairs an' stools, 

An' some are busy blethrin',* 

Right loud that day. 

Here stands a shed to fend the showers, 

An' screen our countra gentry, 
There, racer Jess,' an' twa — three whores. 

Are blinkin' at the entry. 
Here sits a raw of tittlin' * jades, 

Wi' heaving breast and bare neck, 
An' there a batch of wabster lads, 

Blackguarding frae Kilmarnock, 
For fun this day. 

Here some are thinkin' on their sina. 

An' some upo' their claes ; 
Ane curses feet that fyled * his shins, 

Anither sighs an' prays : 
On this hand sits a chosen swatch,* 

Wi' screwed-up grace-proud taces ; 
On that a set o' chaps at watch, 

Thrang winkin' on the lasses 
To chairs that day. 

O, happy is that man an' blest ! 

Nae wonder that it pride him ! 
Whase ain dear lass, that he likes best^ 

Comes chnkin' down beside him ! 
Wi' arm reposed on the chair-back, 

He sweetly does compose him ; 
Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, 

An's loof ' upon her bosom, 

Unkenned that day. 

Now a' the congregation o'er 

Is silent expectation ; 
For Moodie ^ speels ® the holy door, 

Wi' tidings o' damnation. 

' Planks for seats. * Chatting. 

' She was the daughter of " Poosie Nansie," who figures in "The Jollj 
Beggars." She was remarkable for her pedestrian powers, and sometimes 
ran long distances for a wager. 

•* Whispering. * Soiled. ^ Example. ' Hand 

' Minister of Riccarton, and one of the heroes of the " Twa Herda" 

» Climbs. 



r 



440 THE HOLT FAIR. 

Should Hornie,^ as in ancient (lays, 
'Mang sons o' G — present him, 

The vera sight o' Moodie's face, 
To 's ain het hame had sent him 
Wi' fright that day. 

Hear how he clears the points o' faith 

Wi' rattlin' an' thumpin' ! 
Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, 

He 's stampin' an' he 's jumpin' ! 
His lengthened chin, his turned-up snont, 

His eldritch ^ squeel and gestures, 
0, how they fire the heart devout, 

Like cantharidian plaisters, 
On sic a day ! 

But hark ! the tent has changed its voice; 

There 's peace an' rest nae langer : 
For a' the real judges rise, 

They canna sit for anger. 
Smith ^ opens out his cauld harangues 

On practice and on morals ; 
An' aff the godly pour in thrangs. 

To gi'e the jars an' barrels 

A lift that day. 

What signifies his barren shine 

Of moral powers and reason ? 
His English style, an' gesture fine» 

Are a' clean out o' season. 
Like Socrates or Antonine, 

Or some auld Pagan heathen. 
The moral man he does define, 

But ne'er a word o' faith in. 

That 's right that day. 

In guid time comes an antidote 

Against sic poisoned nostrum; 
Fo) Peebles,^ frae the water-fit. 

Ascends the holy rostrum : 
See, up he 's got the Word o' God, 

An' meek an' mim * has viewed it, 
While Common Sense has ta'en the road. 

An' aflT, an' up the Cowgate,® 

Fast, fast that day. 

' A name for the devil. * Unearthly. 

' Jlinister of Galston. 

♦ Minister of Newton-upon-Ayr, named the Water-fit. 

• Prifl), * ■^ street so called 



Ik 



THE HOLT FAIR 441 

Wee Miller, niest, the guard relieves. 

An' orthodoxy raibles,' 
Tliongh in his heart he weel believes. 

An' thinks it auld wives' fables : 
But. faith ! the birkie wants a manse, 

So cannily he hums them ; 
Although his carnal wit an' sense 

Like haiflins-ways ^ o'ercomes him 
At times that day. 

Now butt an' ben,' the change-house fills, 

Wi' yill-caup ■* commentators : 
Eere 's crying out for bakes * and gills, 

An' there the pint-stowp clatters ; 
While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, 

Wi' logic an' wi' Scripture, 
They raise a din, that in the end, 

Is like to breed a rupture 

0' wrath that day. 

Leeze me on drink ! it gi'es us mair 

Than either school or college : 
It kindles wit, it waukens lair, 

It pangs® us fu' o' knowledge: 
Be 't whisky gill, or penny wheep^ 

Or ony stronger potion. 
It never fails, on drinking deep, 

To kittle^ up our notion 

By night or day. 

The lads an' lasses, blithely bent 

To mind baith saul an' body. 
Sit round the table, weel content, 

An' steer abont the toddy. 
On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leul^ 

They 're making observations ; 
While some are cozie i' the neuk, 

An' formin' assignations 

To meet some day. 

But now the Lord's ain Trumpet touts. 

Till a' the hills are rairin', 
A n' echoes back return the shouts : 

Black Russell * is nae spairin' : 

* Rattles. * Almost ' Bark and front. 

^ Ale cup. ' Biscuits. ^ Crams. 

' Eouse. ' Minister of the chapel of ease, Kilmarnock. 



c ^ 

442 THE HOLY FAIR. 

His piercing words, like Highland sworda^ 

Divide the joints an' marrow ; 
His talk o' hell, where devils dwell, 

Onr vera sauls does harrow ^ 

Wi' fright that day. 

A vast, TinViottomed, boundless pit, 

Filled fn' c' lowiu' brunstane,'- 
Wliase ragm' flame, an' scorchin' heat, 

Wad melt the hardest whunstane i 
The half-asleep start up wi' fear, 

An' think they hear it roarin', 
When presently it does appear, 

'Twas but some neebor snorin' 
Asleep that day. 

*Twad be owre-lang a tale to tell 

How monie stories past, 
An' how they crowded to the yill^ 

When they were a' dismist : 
How drink gaed round, in cogs an' caupa^ 

Amang the furms an' benches : 
An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, 

Was dealt about in lunches. 

An' dawds ^ that day. 

In comes a gaacie, gash * guidwife. 

An' sits down by the fire. 
Syne draws her kebbuck ^ an' her knife,-^ 

The lasses they are shyer. 
The auld guidmen, about the grace, 

Frae side to side they bother. 
Till some ane by his bonnet lays. 

An' gi'es them 't Uke a tether, 
Fu' lang that day. 

Waesucks !' for him that gets nae lasa, 

Or lasses that ha'e naething ! 
Sma' need has he to say a grace, 

Or melvie^ his braw claithing! 
wives be mindfu', ance yoursel' 

How bonnie lads ye wanted, 
An' dinna, for a kebbuck-heel," 

Let lasses be affronted 

On sic a day I 

' Shakspeare's Ha/mlet. — ^Burns. • Blazing brimston* 

' Ale. * Lumps. * Fat, sagacioua. 

• Cheese. ' Alas 1 * Soil. 

* Cheese-paring. 



DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK f^ 

Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattlin' tow, 

Begins to jow an' croon ; ^ 
Some swagsjer hame, the best they dow,* 

Some wait the afternoon. 
At slaps ' the bilHes ■* halt a blink, 

Till lasses strip their shoon : 
Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink, 

They 're a' in famous tune 

For crack that day. 

How monie hearts this day converts 

0' sinners and o' lasses ! 
Their hearts o' stane, gin night are gans 

As saft as ony flesh is. 
There's some are fu' o' love divine; 

There 's some are fu' o' brandy ; 
An' monie jobs that day be^un. 

May end in houghmagaiidie 
Some ither day. 

[The names in the text of this poem are supplied froB t copy of the 
first edition, in which they were written by the Poet himself; ami the 
variations are from a copy in his own handwriting. The s^ene is laid in 
the churchyard of Maiichline : the clergyman of the parish, with his 
assistants, are exhibited on the stage, while the lay members of the 
congregation, swelled by auxiliary weavers from Kilmarnock, compose the 
numerous persons of the underplot of the piece. 

Fergusson, in his " Hallow Fair of Edinburgh," I believe, furnished a 
hint of the title and plan of the "Holy Fair." The farcical scene the 
Poet there describes was often a favourite field of his observation ; and 
most of the incidents he mentions had acttially passed before his eyes.^ 
GiLBEBT Burns.] 



DEATH AlTD DOCTOE HOENBOOK* 

[a tkue story.] 

Some books are lies frae end to end, 
And some great lies were never penned: 

* Sing and groan. ^ Can. ' Openings in hedges. * Lads. 

* John Wilson, schoolmaster in Tarbolton, who practised as a quack 
doctor. " Death and Doctor Hornbook," though not published in the 
Kilmarnock edition, was produced early in the year ] 785. The school- 
master of Tarbolton parish, to eke out the scanty subsistence allowed to 
that useful class of men, ^et up a shop of grocery goods. Having acci- 
dentally fallen in with some medical books, and liecome most hobby- 
l»orsicall.y attached to the study of medicine, he had added the sale of f, 



444 DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK. 

Ev'n ministers, they liii'e been kenned, 

In holy rapture, 
A rousing whid ' at times to vend, 

And nail 't wi' ScriptuTflU 

But this that I am gaun to tell, 
Which lately on a night befell, 
Is just as true 's the De'il 's in hell 

Or Dublin city: 
That e'er he nearer comes oursel' 

'S a muckle pily. 

The Clachan yill* had made me cantj', 

I was na fou, but just had plenty ; 

I stachered ^ whyles, but yet took tent * aye 

To free the ditches ; 
An' hillocks, stanes, and bushes, kenned ayo 

Frae ghaists an' witches. 

The rising moon began to glower 
The distant Cumnock hills out-owre: 
To count her horns, wi' a' my power, 

I set mysel' ; 
But whether she had three or four, 

I could na teU. 

I was come round about the hill, 
And todlin' down on Willie's mill. 
Setting my staff wi' a' my skill, 

To keep me sicker : • 
Though leeward whyles, against my wiD, 

I took a bicker.* 

I there wi' Something did forgather,' 
That put me in an eerie swither ; * 

few medicines to his little trade. He had got a shop-bill printed, at the 
bottom of which, overlooking his o'wn incapacity, he had advertised that 
advice would be given, in common disorders, at the shop, gratis. Robert 
was at a mason-meeting in Tarbolton, when the Dominie made too 
ostentatious a display of his medical skill. As he parted in the evening 
from this mixture of pedantry and physic, at the place where he describes 
his meeting with Death, one of those floating ideas of apparitions 
mentioned in his letter to Dr. Moore, crossed his mind ; tliis set him to 
work for the rest of his way home. These circumstances he related when 
he repeated the verses to me the uext afternoon, as I was holding the 
plough, and he was letting the water oflF the field beside me. — GiLBEBt 

BUKNS 

' Fib. » Ale. ^ Staggered. 

* Care. * Steady. * Limge. 

^ Meet. * Frightened shaking. 



B 



DEATE AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK. 445 

An awfu' scythe, out-owre ae shouther. 
Clear-dangling, hang; 

A three-taed leister ' on the ither 

Lay, large an' lang. 

Its stature seemed lang Scotch eUs twa. 
The queerest shape that e'er I saw, 
For fient a wame "^ it had ava ; 

And then, its shanks, 
They were as thin, as sharp an' sma' 

As cheeks o' branks.' 

** Guid-e'en," quo' I ; "Friend ! ha'e ye been ma win* 
"When ither folk are busy sawin'? "* 
It seemed to mak' a kind o' stan', 

But naething spak' ; 
At length, says I, " Friend, whare ye gaun, 

Will ye go back P " 

It spak' right howe,* — " My name is Death, 
But be na tleyed." • Quoth I, " Guid faith. 
Ye 're maybe come to stap my breath ; 

But tent me billie;^ 
I red ye weel, tak' care o' skaith,* 

See, there's a gully ! "• 

* Guidman," quo' he, " put up your whittle^ 
I 'm no designed to try its mettle ; 
But if I did, I wad be kittle " 

To be misleared; ^^ 
I wad na mind it, no, that spittle 

Out-owre my beard.'* 

"Weel, weel ! " says I, " a bargain be 't ; 
Come, gie 's your hand, an' sae we 're gree't; 
We '11 ease our shanks an' tak' a seat. 

Come, gie 's your news ; 
This while ye ha'e been mony a gate. 

At mony a house." " 

•• Ay, ay ! " quo' he, an' shook his head, 
" It 's e'en a lang, lang time indeed 

' Threb-pronged dart * Stomach, 

' A kind of wooden curb. 

* Tliis rencounter happened in seed-time, 1785.— Burns. 

■'' Hollow. '' Affrighted. ' Beware of me. brother, 

• Harm. ^ A large knife. '" Difficult. 
" Hindered in my vocation. 

" An epidemical fever was then raging in that country. — BuKas, 



rn 



446 DEATH AND DOCTOR HO ti^ BOOK, 

Sin' I began to nick the thread, 

An' choke the breath : 

Folk maun do something for their bread. 
An' sae maun Death, 

" Sax thousand years are near hand fled 
Sill' I was to the batching bred, 
An' mony a scheme in vain 's been laid, 

To stap or scar' me ; 
Till ane Hornbook 's ' ta'en up the trade, 

An' faith, he '11 waur me.* 

" Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the clachan,^ 
De'il mak' his king's-hood in a spleuchan ! * 
He 's grown sae weel acquaint wi' Buchan' 

An' ither chaps, 
The weans hand out their fingers laughin' 

And pouk my hips. 

•* See, here 's a scythe, and there 's a dart. 
They ha'e piei'ced mony a gallant heart; 
But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art 

And cursed skill, 
Has made them ba,ith no worth a 

D d haet they '11 kilL 

"Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen, 
I threw a noble throw at ane ; 
Wi' less, I 'm sure, I Ve hundreds slain ; 

But de'il-ma-care, 
It just played dirl * on the bane. 

But did nae mair. 

•• Hornbook was by, wi' ready art, 
And had sae fortified the part, 
That when I looked to my dart. 

It was sae blunt, 
Fient haet o't wad ha'e pierced the heart 

0' a kail-runt.' 

** I drew my scythe in sic a fury, 
I nearhand cowpit' wi' my hurry, 
But yet the bauld Apothecary 

Withstood the shock ; 
I might as weel ha'e tried a qiiarry 
O' hard whin-i-ock. 

' TLis gentleman, Doctor Hornbook, is, professionally, a brother of th8 
Sovereign Onler of the Ferula ; but, by intuition and inspiration, is at 
once an apothecary, surgeon, and physician. — Burns. 

* Do me harm. ^ Small village. ■* Tobacco-poucL 

* Buchan's " Domestic Medicine." ^ Lightly. 
' Oabbage-stump. * Tumbled. 



n 



DEATH AKB DOCTOR HORNBOOK. 



IJ 



447 



*' Even them he canna get attended, 
Although their face he ne'er had kenned it, 

Just in a kail -blade, and send it, 

As soon he smells 't, 
Baith their disease, and what will mend it» 
At once he tells 't. 

•*And then a' doctor's saws and whittles. 
Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, 
A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles, 

He 's sure to ha'e ; 
Their Latin names as fast he rattles 

As A, B, C. 

** Calces o' fossils, earth, and trees ; 
Time sal-marinum o' the seas ; 
The farina o' beans and pease, 

He has 't in plenty ; 
Aqua-fortis, what you please, 

He can content ye. 

*• Forbye some new, uncommon weapons, 
Urinus spiritus of capons ; 
Or mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings ; 

Distilled jper se ; 
Sal-alkali o' midge-tail clippings, 

And mony mae." 

" Wae 's me for Johnnie Ged's Hole i now,** 
Quo' I, " if that the news be true ! 
His braw calf- ward whare gowans ^ grew, 

ISae white and bonnie. 
Nae doubt they '11 rive it wi' the plew ; * 

They '11 ruin Johnnie ! ** 

The creature grained an eldritch laugh. 
And says, " Ye need na yoke the pleugh, 
Kirk-yards will soon be tilled eneugh, 

Tak' ye nae fear : 
They '11 a' be trenched wi' mony a sheugh • 

In twa-three year. 

" Whare I killed ane a fair strae death,' 
By loss o' blood or want o' breath. 
This night I 'm free to tak" my aith,® 

That Hornbook's skill 
Has clad a score i' their last claith,'' 
By drap an' pill. 



' The grave-digser. — Burns. 
' Turn it up with the plough. 
* Death in bed. 



« Oath. 



* Daisies. 

♦ Ditch. 

' Shroud. 



IL 



n 



448 DEATH AND DOCTOR HORNBOOK. 

" An honest wabster ^ to his trade. 
Whase wife's twa nieves' were scarce weel-bred, 
Gat tippence-worth to mend her head, 

When it was sair; 
The wife slade ' cannie to her bed, 

But ne'er spak' mair. 

*' A conntra laird had ta'en the batts. 
Or some curmnrring * in his guts, » 

His only son for Hornbook sets, 

An' pays him welL 
The lad, for twa guid gimmer pets,® 

Was laird himsel'. 



A bonnie lass, ye kenned her name, 

Some ill-brewn drink had hoved her wame ; 

She trusts hersel', to hide the shame, 

In Hornbook's care ; 
Horn sent her aff to her laug hame, 

To hide it there. 



**That 's just a swatch ' o' Hornbook's wayi 
Thus goes he on from day to day, 
Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay, 

An's weel paid for 't; 
Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey 

Wi' his d d dirt: 



• But, hark ! I 'U tell you of a plot. 
Though dinna ye be speaking o't; 
I '11 nail the self-conceited sot. 

As dead 's a herrin*; 
Neist time we meet, I '11 wad ' a groat, 

He 's got his fauin' 1 ** 



But just as he began to tell, 

The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell 

Some wee short hour ayont the twal,^ 

Which raised us baiths 
I took the way that pleased mysel'. 
And sae did Death. 



' Weaver. 


- Fists. 


* Rumbling. 


* Two-year-old sheep. 


' Bet. 


* Beyond twelve. 



Slid. 
Specimeib 






449 



THE ORDINATIOTSr.' 



•* For sense they little owe to frugal Heaven— 
To please the mob they hide the little given.** 

KiLMAHNOCK wabsters ^ fidge an' claw. 

An' pour your creeshie^ nations; 
An' ye wlia leather rax * an' draw, 

Of a' denominations, 
Swith * to the Laigh " Kirk, aiie an' a*. 

An' there tak' up your stations ; 
Then aff to Begbie's in a raw/ 

An' pour divine Hbatious 

For joy this day. 

Cnrst Common Sense, that imp o' hell. 

Cam' in wi' Maggie Lauder ;^ 
But Oliphant aft made her yell, 

An' Russell sair misca'd her; 
This day M'Kinlay tak's the flail. 

An' he's the boy will bland" her I 
He'll clap a shangan'" on her tail, 

An' set the bairns to daud " her 

Wi' dirt this day. 

Mak' haste and turn King David owra^ 

And lilt " wi' holy clangor; 
O' double verse come gi'e us four. 

An' skirl '^ up the Bangor: 
This day the Kirk kicks up a stoure,** 

Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her, 
For Heresy is in her power, 

And gloriously she '11 whang her 

Wi' pith this day. 

' This Satire was written on the admission of the Rev, Mr. M 'Kinlay 
as one of the ministers of the Parochial Kirk of Kilmarnock. He was a 
good and venerable man, but disliked by Burns because he was a High 
Calviaist, or one of the Auld-Light preachers of the Kirk. 

'^ Weavers. ' Greasy. * Stretch. 

* Get away. * Parochial. ' Row. 

' Alluding to a scoffing ballad which was made on the admission of the 
late Reverend and worthy Mr. L. to the Lai,'li Kirk. — Burns. 

9 Slap. "> A cleft stick " Pelt. 

" Sing. » Shriek. '« Dust. 

O Q 



450 THE ORDINATION. 

Come, let a proper text be read, 

An' touch it aff wi' vigour, 
How graceless Ham ' leugh at his dad, 

Which made Canaan a nigger ; 
Or Phineas * drove the murdering blale, 

Wi' whore-abhorring rigour ; 
Or Zipporah,^ the scauldin' jade, 

Was like a bluidy tiger 

I' th' inn that day. 

There, try his mettle on the creed. 

And bind him down Avi' caution, — 
That stipend is a carnal weed 

He tak's but for the fashion ; 
And gi'e him o'er the flock, to feed. 

And punish each transgression ; 
Especial rams that cross the breed, 

Gi'e them sufficient threshin', 

Spare them nae day. 

ITow, anld Kilmarnock, cock thy tail, 

And toss thy horns fu' canty ; 
Nae mair thou 'It rowte '' out-owre the dalSj 

Because thy pasture 's scanty ; 
For lapfu's large o' gospel kail 

Shall till thy crib in plenty, 
An' runts o' grace, the pick and wale,* 

No gi'en by way o' dainty. 

But ilka day. 

Nae mair by Babel's streams we '11 weep^ 

To think upon our Zion ; 
And hing our fiddles up to sleep. 

Like baby-clouts a-dryin' : 
Come, screw the pegs wi' tunefu' cheep,* 

And o'er the thairms^ be tryin' ; 
O, rare ! to see our el bucks wheep,' 
An' a' hke lamb-tails fly in' 

Fu' fast bhis day. 

Lang Patronage, wi' rod o' airn,® 
Has shored the Kirk's undoin'. 

As lately Fenwick, sair forfa-irn. 
Has proven lo its ruin : 

* Genesis, ch. ix. ver. 22. — Burns. 

• Numbers, ch. xxv. ver. 8. — Burns. 

• Exolus, ch. iv. ver. 25 —Burns. * Bellow. 

* Choice. ® Chirp. '' Strings. 

' Elbows jerk. ' Iron " Distressed, 



r 



TEE OtiDlJ^ATION. 451 

Oar patron, honest man ! Glencaim, 

He saw mischief was brevvin': 
And, Hke a godly elect bairn, 

He 's waled ' us out a true ane, 

And sound, this day. 

Now, Robinson, harangue uae mair, 

But steek * your gab for ever : 
Or try the wicked town of Ayr, 

For there they '11 think you clever; 
Or, nae reflection on your lear,^ 

Ye may commence a shaver ; 
Or to the Netherton reimir. 

And turn a carpet- weaver 

AfF-hand this day. 

Mutrie and you were just a match, 

We never had sic twa drones ; 
.Luld Hornie^ did the Laigh Kirk wr.tcb^ 

Just like a winkin' baudrons : ^ 
^ Tid aye he catch' d the tither wretch, 

.Vo try them in his caudrons ; 
Bui niw his honour maun detach, 

"V\^ '• a' his brimstone squadrons, 

Fast, fast this day. 

See, S06 aiild Orthodoxy's faes, 

She'cJ ^wiugein' through the city; 
Hark, hty\<? the nine-tailed cat she plays !• 

I vow It 's unco pretty : 
There Leai ling, with his Greekish face, 

Grunts out some Latin ditty ; 
And Commo/i Sense is gaun, she says. 
To mak' to famie Beattie 

Her plaint this day. 

But there 's Morality himsel', 

Embracing ail opinions ; 
Hear how he gi'e^ the tither yell, 

Between his twa companions ; 
See, how she peels the skin an' fell,* 

As ane were peelxn' onions! 
Now there — they 're packed aff to hell. 

And banished our dominions, 

Henceforth this day. 

» Chosen. '^ Shut. ^ Leiirning. 

• The devil. '•' Cat. * The flesh immediately under the skin. 






452 THE CALF. 



O happy day ! rejoioe, rejoice ! 

Come, bouse about the porter! 
Morabty's demure decoys 

Shall here nae mair find quaiter : 
M'Kinlay, Russell, are the boys 

That Heresy can torture : 
They '11 gi'e her on a rape a hoyse,' 

And cowe her measure shorter 

By th' head some day. 

Come, bring the tither mutchkin '* in, 

And here 's, for a conclusion, 
**To every New Light' mother's son. 

From this time forth, confusion ! " 
If mair they deave * us with their din, 

Or patronage intrusion, 
We '11 light a spunk,* and, every skin. 

We '11 rin them aff in fusion 

Like oil, some day. 



THE CALF." 

[To the Rev, James Steven, on his text, Malachi, ch. iv. ver. 2, — 
**And they shall go forth, and grow up like calves of the stall."] 

Right, Sir ! your text I '11 prove it true. 

Though heretics may laugh ; 
For instance, there 's yoarsel' just now, 

God knows, an unco calf ! 

' A pull upwards ; a hoist. ' English pint. 

' New Light is a cant phrase, in the West of Scotland, for those reli- 
gious opinions which Dr. Taylor, of Norwich, has defended so strenu- 
ously. — Burns. 

* Deafen. * Match. 

° "The Poet," says Gilbert Bums, speaking of this poem, "had been 
with Mr. Hamilton in the morning (Sunday), who, being confined with 
the gout, could not accompany him, but said jocularly to him, when he 
was going to church (in allusion to the injunction of some parents to their 
children), that he must be sure to bring him a note of the sermon at 
tmidday ; this address to the reverend gentleman on his text was thus 
produced, for Burns, who appears to have been but little edified by 
he ssrmon, composed a rhyming satire on the minister from his own 
text, and repeated the same when he returned to dinner. The verses 
are clever, but certainly too severe. The Poet had no personal dislike 
to his victim, and desired his lampoon misht be looked upon merely as 
a poetic sally. The apj)ellation of 'The Calf,' however, seems to have 
stuck to the preacher, for in one of the letters to Burns from his younger 



JC 



J 



ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID. 453 

And should some patron be so kind 

As bless you wi' a kirk, 
I doubt na, sir, but then we '11 find 

Ye 're still as great a stirk.' 

But, if the lover's raptured hoar 

Shall ever be your lot. 
Forbid it, every heavenly power, 

You e'er should be a stot ! * 

Though, when some kind, connubial deaf} 

Your but-and-ben' adorns. 
The like has been that you may wear 

A noble head of horns ! 

And in your lug,* most reverend James, 

To hear you roar and rowte,^ 
Few men o' sense will doubt your claims 

To rank amang the nowte.' 

And when ye 're numbered wi' the dead, 

Below a grassy hillock, 
Wi' justice they may mark your head — 

" Here lies a famous bullock ! " 



ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, OK THE RIGIDLY 
RIGHTEOUS/ 

** My son, these maxims make a rule. 
And lump them aye thegither ; 
The Rigid Eighteous is a fool, 

Tlie Rigid Wise anither. 
The cleanest corn that e'er was dight. 

May ha'e some pyles o' caff * iu ; 
So ne'er a fellow-creature slight. 
For random fits o' daffin. " ^ 

Solomon, Eccles. ch. vu. ver. 16. 

O, TE wha are sae guid yonrsel', 

Sae pious and sae holy, 
Ye 've nought to do but mark and tell 

Your neebours' faults and folly ! 

brother, who died in London, the following passage occurs, dated 21st 
March, 1790: — 'We were at Covent Garden Chapel this afternoon, to 
hear "The Calf" preach. He is grown very fat, and is as boisterous as 
ever. ' " 

' Bullock of a year old. ' Ox. ^ Kitchen and parlour. 

< Ear. * Bellow. ® Black cattle. 

' The title alone of this poem is a satire. It contains a lesson of per* 
feet charity. 

^ ChaflF. *• Sport. 



I 



464 ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GLID. 

Whase life is like a weel-gauii r,.ill, 
Supplied wi' store o' water, 

The lieapet happer 's ' ebbing still. 
And still the clap plays clatter. 

Hear me, ye venerable core,' 

As counsel for poor mortals, 
That frequent pass douce Wisdom's doOT 

Ftir glaikit ^ Folly's portals ; 
I, for their thoughtless, careless sakea, 

Would here propone defences. 
Their dousie'* tricks, their black mistakes. 

Their failings and mischances. 

Ye see your state wi' theirs compared. 

And shudder at the niffer,* 
But cast a moment's fair regard, 

What mak's the mighty differ ; 
Discount what scant occasion gave 

That purity ye pride in, 
And (what 's aft mair than a' the lave*) 

Your better art o' hiding. 

Think, when your castigated pulse 

Gi'es now and then a wallop, 
What ragings must his veins convulse^ 

That still eternal gallop : 
Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, 

Right on ye scud your sea-way; 
But in the tt eth o' baith to sail. 

It mak's an unco leeway. 

See Social Life and Glee sit down. 

All joyous and unthinking. 
Till, quite transmugrified, they 're grown 

Debauchery and drinking : 
O, would they stay to calculate 

Th' eternal consequences; 
Or your more dreaded hell to state^ 

Damnation of expenses ! 

Ye high, exaltci" 'irtuous dames, 

Tied up in godiy laces, 
Before ye gi'e poor Frailty names, 

Suppose a change o' cases • 

* Heaped hopper. * Corps. ' Careleaft 

* Unlucky. • Difference. * Eeat. 



Or 



A DREAM. 465 

A dear- loved lad, convenience snug, 

A treacherous inclination — 
But, let me whisper i' your lug. 

Ye 're aiblins ' nae temptation. 

Then gently scan your brother man, 

Still gentler sister woman ; 
Though they may gang a kennin - wrangj 

To step aside is human : 
One point must still be greatly darK, 

The mov-ing why they do it ! 
And just as lamely can ye mark 

How far, perhaps, they rue it. 

Who made the heart, 'tis He alone 

Decidedly can try us. 
He knows each chord — its various ton^ 

Each spring — its various bias : 
Then at the balance let's be mute. 

We never can adjust it ; 
What 's done we partly may compute. 

But know not what 's resisted. 



A DREAM. 

" Thoughts, words, and deeils, the statute blames with reason ; 
But surely dreams were ne'er indicted treason ?" 

I^On reading, in the public ]iapers, the " Laureat's Ode," with the other 
parade of June 4, 1786, the Author was no sooner dropped asleep, than he 
imagined himself transported to the Birthday Levee, and, in his dreaming 
£aucy, made the following address. — Bukns. t 

Guid-mornin' to your Majjesty ! 

May Heaven augment your blisses, 
On every new birthday ye see, 

A humble poet wishes ! 
My hardship here, at your levee, 

On sic a day as this is. 
Is sure an uncouth sight to see 

Amang the birthday dresses, 

Sae fine this day. 

I see ye 're complimented thrang. 

By mony a lord and lady, 
" God save the King !" 's a cuckoo sang 
That 's unco easy said aye ; 
Maybe. * Littla. 



11^ 



jf 



436 A DREAM. 

The poets, too, a venal gang, 

Wi' rhymes weel-turned and ready. 

Wad gar ' you trow ye ne'er do wran^ 
But aye unerring steady, 

On sic a day. 

^ For me ! before a monarch's face, 

Ev'n there I winna flatter ; 
For neither pension, post, nor plac^ 

Am I your humble debtor : 
So, nae reflection on your grace. 

Your kingship to bespatter ; 
There 's mony waur been o' the race. 
And aiblins ^ ane been better 

Than you this desf 

*Tis very true, my sov'reign king, 

My skill may weel be doubted : 
But facts are chiols that winna ding* 

An' downa be disjKited : 
Your royal nest, beneath your wing. 

Is e'en right reft an' clouted,^ 
And now the third part of the string, 

An' less, will gang about it 

Than did ae daj. 

Far be 't frae me that I aspire 

To blame jonv legislation, 
Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire, 

To rule this mighty nation ! 
But faith I I muckle doubt, my Sire, 

Ye 've trusted ministral ion 
To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre 

Wad better fill their station 

Than courts yon day. 

And now ye 've gi'en auld Britain peace. 

Her broken shins to plaster ; 
Tour sair taxation does her fleece. 

Till she has scarce a tester : 
For me, thank God ! my life 's a leasee 

ISTae bargain wearing faster, 
Or, faith ! I fear, that wi' the geese 

I shortly boost * to pasture 

I' the craft ^ some day, 

• Make. ' Maybe. ^ Be put down* 

• Tom and patched. The American Colonies were lost. 

• Neea. 6 pigid^ 



liP!: 



A DREAM, 

I 'm no mistrustiiig Willie Pitt, 

When taxes he enlarges, 
(An' Will 's a true gnid fallow's get,' 

A name not envy spairges,"'') 
That he intends to pay your debt, 

An' lessen a' your charges ; 
But, God-sake ! let nae saving fit 

Abridge your bonnie barges 

An' boats this day. 

Adien, my Liege ! may Freedom geek * 

Beneath your high protection ; 
An' may ye rax * Corrnption's neck. 

And gi'e her for dissection ! 
But since I 'm here, I '11 no neglect, 

In loyal, true affection, 
To pay your Queen, with due respect, 

My fealty an' subjection 

This great birthday. 

Hail, Majesty Most Excellent ! 

While nobles strive to please ye, 
Will ye accept a compliment 

A simple poet gi'es ye ? 
Thae bonnie bairntime. Heaven has lent, 

Still higher may they heeze^ ye 
In bliss, tin Fate some day is sent. 

For ever to release ye 

Frae care that day. 

For you, young potentate o' Wales, 

I tell your Highness fairly, 
Down Pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails, 

I 'm tauld ye 're driving rarely ; 
Bnt some day ye may gnaw your nails. 

An' curse your iolly sairly. 
That e'er ye brak Diana's pales, 

Or rattled dice wi' Charlie,® 

By night or day. 

Tet aft a ragged cowte's '' been known 

To mak' a noble aiver ; * 
So, ye may doucely till a throne, 

For a' their clishmaclaver : 



457 



> CTiild. 

* Stretch. 
» Colt. 



2 Sullies. 

* Raise. 

* Cart-hors«. 



3 Exult. 
« C. J. Fox. 



C 



t58 A DREAM. 

There, him at Agincourt wha shone^ 

Few better were or braver ; 
And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir John,* 

He was an unco shaver •' 

For mony a day. 

For you, right rev'rend Osnaburgh* 

ISTane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter. 
Although a ribbon at youi lug 

Wad been a dress completer : 
As ye disown yon paughty" dog 

That bears the keys of Peter, 
Then, swith ! ^ an' get a wife to hug, 

Or, trouth ! ye '11 stain the mitre 
Some luckless day. 

Young royal Tarry Breeks,' I learn. 

Ye 've lately come athwart her ; 
A glorious galley " stem an' stern. 

Well rigged for Venus' barter ; 
But first hang out, that she '11 discern. 

Your Hymeneal charter. 
Then heave aboard your grapple-airn. 

An', large upo' her quarter, 

Come full that day. 

Ye, lastly, bonnie blossoms a', 

Ye royal lasses dainty. 
Heaven mak' you guid as weel as braw. 

An' gi'e you lads a-plenty ! 
But sneer nae British boys awa', 

For kings are unco scant aye; 
An' German gentles are but sma', 

They 're better just than want aye, 
On onie day. 

God bless you a' ! consider now, 

Ye 're unco muckle dautet ; ' 
But, ere the course o' life be through, 

It may be bitter sautet ; ' 

^ King Henry V. ' Sir John Falstaff, vide Shakespeare. 

» "Wag. 

* Osnaburgh gave the title of Bishop to George the Third's second soa. 
^ Proud. ® Get otf, i.e. "make haste." 

^ Duke of Clarence. 

^ Alluding to the newspaper account of a certain royal sailor's amour. 
— Burns. 
" Caressed. 



P 



TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. OSWALD. -tSO 

An' I ha'e seen their coggie' fou, 

That yet ha'e tarrow't * at it ; 
But or the day was done, I trow, 

The laggen ^ they ha'e clautet * 

Fu' clean that day. 



ODE. 

SACKED TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. OSWAXD, OF AOCHLNCRUIVE. 

Dweller in yon dungeon dark. 
Hangman of creation ! mark 
Who in widow-weeds appears, 
Laden with uuhonoured years, 
Noosing with care a bursting pnrse, 
Baited with many a deadly curse ! 

STROPHE. 

View the withered beldam's face — 

Can thy keen inspection trace 

Aught of humanity's sweet melting grace? 

Note that eye, 'tis rheum o'erflows. 

Pity's Hood there never rose. 

See those hands, ne'er stretched to save, 

Hands that tofik — but never gave. 

Keeper of Mammon's iron chest, 

Lo ! there she goes — unpitied and unblest ! 

She goes, but not to realms of everlasting rest I 

ANTISTROPHE. 

Plundei'er of armies, hft thine eyes, 

(A while forbear, ye torturing fiends,) 

Seest thou whose step unwilling hither bends? 

No fallen angel, hui-led from upper skies ; 

'Tis thy trusty quondam mate, 

Doomed to share thy fiery fate, 

She, tardy, hell-ward plies. 

EPODE, 

Are they of no more avail. 

Ten thousand glittering pounds a year? 

In other worlds can Mammon fail, 

Omnipotent as he is here.P 

O, bitter mockery of the pompous bier, 

While down the wretched vital part is driven ! 

The cave-lodged beggar, with a conscience clear". 

Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to heavea. 

■ Little wooclen dish. * Miu-mured. 

• The bottom and side. * Sciaped. 



460 

THE KIRK'S ALARM.' 

La satire.] 
A ballad tune — " Push about the brisk bowl." 

Orthodox, orthodox, 

Wlia believe in John Knox, 
Let me sound an alarm to your conscience. 

There 's a heretic blast 

Has been blawn i' the wast, 
That what is not sense must be nonsensOi 

Doctor Mac,^ Doctor Mac. 

Te should stretch on a rack, 
To strike evil-doers wi' terror ; 

To join faith and sense. 

Upon ony pretence, 
Is heretic, damnable error. 

Town of Ayr, town of Ayr, 

It was mad I declare, 
To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing ; 

Provost John ' is still deaf 

To the church's relief. 
And orator Bob * is its ruin. 

D'rymple mild,® D'rymple mild, 

Though your heart's like a child. 
And your life like the new-driven snaw ; 

Yet that winna save ye, 

Auld Satan must have ye, 
For preaching that three 's ane an' twa. 

Rumble John,^ Rumble John, 

Mount the steps wi' a groan, 
Cry the book is wi' heresy crammed ; 

Then lug out your ladle, 

Deal brimstone like adle,' 
And roar every note of the damned. 

' Written in behalf of Dr. M'Gill, who had been accused of heretical 
opinions. See note at the end of the poem. 

^ Dr. M'Gill. ^ John Ballantine, Esq., Provost of Ayr. 

'' Mr. Robert Aiken, writer in Ayr. He defended Dr. M'Gill in the 
Synod. 

^ The Rev. Dr. Williiun Dalrymple, senior minister of the Collegiate 
Church of Ayr. 

^ The Rev. John Russell. ^ Putrid water. 



a 



THE KIRK'S ALARM. 461 

Simper James,' Simper Jamea, 

Leave the fair Killie dames. 
There 's a holier chase in your view; 

I '11 lay on your head, 

That the jjack ye '11 soor. lead. 
For pujipies like you there 's but few. 

Singet Sawney,' Singet Sawney, 

Are ye herding the penny, 
Unconscious what evil await ! 

Wi' a jump, yell, and howl. 

Alarm every soul, 
For the foul thief is just at your gate. 

Daddy Auld," Daddy Auld, 

There 's a tod in the fauld, 
A tod* meikle waur than the clerk;* 

Though ye can do little skaith. 

Ye '11 be in at the death, 
And if ye canna bite, ye can bark. 

Davie Bluster,® Davie Bluster, 
If for a saunt ye do muster. 
The corps is no nice of recruits ; 

Tet to worth let 's be ]ust, 
Koyal blood ye might boast» 

Jamie Goose,' Jamie Goose, 

Ye ha'e made but toom roose,* 
In hunting the wicked lieutenant ; 

But the doctor 's your mark, 

For the L— d's haly ark ; 
He has coopered and ca'd a wrang pin in *t. 

Poet "Willie,^ Poet Willie, 

Gi'e the Doctor a volley, 
Wi* your " liberty's chain " and your wit; 

O'er Pegasus' side 

Ye ne'er laid a stride, 
Te but smelt, man, the place where he , 

' The Rev. James M'Kinlay. 

" The Rev. Alexander Moodie, of Riccarton. 

' The Rev. Mr. Auld, of Mauchline. • A fox. 

^ Mr. Gavin Hamilton. ' Mr Grant, Ochiltree 

' Mr. Young, of Cumnock. * Empty praise. 

• The Rev. Dr. Peebles, of Newton-upon-Ayr. 



r 



462 THE KIRK'S ALARM. 

Andro Gouk,' Andro Goxik, 

Ye may slander the book, 
And the book nane the waiir,- let me tell ye 5 

Though ye 're rich, and lock big, 

Yet lay by hat and wig, 
And ye '11 ha'e a calf's head o' sma' value. 

Barr Steenie,"'' Barr Steenie, 

"What mean ye, what mean ye P 
If yo '11 meddle nae mair with the matter. 

Ye may ha'e some pretence 

To havins and sense, 
Wi' people wha ken ye nae better. 

Irvine side,* Irvine side, 

Wi' your turkey-cock pride, 
O' manhood but sma' is your share, 

Ye 've the figure, 'tis true, 

Even your faes will allow, 
And your friends they daur grant you nae icms* 

Muirland Jock,'' Muirland Jock, 

When the L — d makes a rock 
To crash Common Sense for her sins. 

If ill manners were wit, 

There 's no mortal so fit 
To confound the poor Doctor at ance. 

Holy Will,s Holy Will, 

There was wit i' your skull. 
When ye pilfered the almso' the poor; 

The timmer is scant. 

When ye 're ta'en for a saunt, 
"W ha should swing in a rape for an hour. 

Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons. 

Seize your spiritual guns. 
Ammunition you never can need ; 

Your hearts are the stuff. 

Will be powther enough, 
And your skulls are a storehouse o' lead. 

Poet Burns, Poet Burns, 

Wi' your priest-skelping turns. 
Why desert ye your auld native «hire ? 

Your Muse is a gipsie, 

E'en though she were tipsie, 
She could ca' us nae waur than we are. 

• Dr. Andrew Mitchell, Monkton. ° Rev. Stephen Young, Barr. 

» Rev. Mr. George Smith, Galston. ■* Mr John Shepherd, Muirkirk. 

* The elder in Mauchline, William Fisher, whom Burns so often 
•tiiized. 



THE TWA HERDS. AfJ.\ 

[In tlie second version the Poet adds the following Postscript : — ■ 

Afton's Laird,' Afton's Laird, 

When your pen can be spared, 
A copy o' this I bequeath, 

On the same sicker score 

I mentioned before, 
To that trust auld worthy Clackleeth.] 

"M'Gill and Dalrymple," says Lockhart, in his Life of Bums, "the 
two .ministers of the town of Ayr, had long been susjiected of entertain- 
ing heterodox opinions on several points, particularly the doctrine of 
Original Sin and the Trinity ; and the former at length publislied an 
essay, which was considered as demanding the notice of the church courts. 
More than a year was spent in the discussions which arose out of this, 
and at last Dr. M'Gill was fain to acknowledge his errors, and jironiise 
that he would take an early opportunity of apologizing for them to his 
congregation from the puljnt, which jjroniise, however, he never per- 
formed. The gentry of the county took, for the most part, the side of 
M'Gill, who was a man of cold, unpopular manners, but of unreproached 
moral character, and possessed of some accomiilishments, though certainly 
not of distinguished talents. The bulk of the lower orders espoused, 
with far more fervid zeal, the cause of those who conducted the prosecu- 
tion against this erring doctor. Gavin Hamilton, and all persons of his 
stamp, were, of course, on the side of M'Gill — Auld and the Mauchline 
elders, with his enemies. Robert Aiken, a writer in Ayr, a n)an of re- 
markable talents, particularly in public si)eaking, had the principal man- 
agement of M'(5iirs cause before the Presbytery and the Synod. He was 
an intimate friend of Hamilton, and through him had about this time 
formed an acquaintance, which soon ripened into a warm friendship, with 
Burns. Burns was, therefore, from the beginning, a zealous — as in the 
end he was, perhaps, the most effective — partisan of the side on which 
Aiken had staked so much of big reputation." 



» THE TWA HERDS ;2 

OK, THE HOLY TULZIE. 

Blof'kheads with reason wioked wits abhor, 

But fool with fool is barbarous civil war. — PoPB. 

Oh, a' ye pious, godly flocks, 
Weel fed on pastures orthodox, 

• John Locran, E^q., of Afton. 

' Shepherds. — They were, the minister of Ricc.arton, Moodie, and the 
assistant minister of Kilmarnock, Russell. A controversy between them, 
on their way home from a dinner, ended in blows. 



n. 



4G4 



THE TWA HERDS. 



Wlia now will keep you frae tte fox. 
Or woiTying tykes, 

Or wha will tent the waves and crocks' 
About the dykes ? 

The twa best herds in a' the wast, 
That e'er ga'e gospel horn a blast, 
These five-and-twenty simmers past, 

O ! dool to tell, 
Ha'e had a bitter, black out-cast 

Atween themsel*. 

0, Moodie, man, and wordy Russell, 
How could you raise so vile a bustle. 
Ye 'U see how New- Light herds will whistle, 

And think it fine : 
The Lord's cause ne'er gat sic a twistle 

Sin' I ha'e man'. 

O, sirs ! whae'er wad ha'e expeckit, 

Your duty ye wad sae negleckit. 

Ye wha were ne'er by lairds respeckit, 

To wear the plaid, 
But by the brutes themselves eleckit, 

To be their guide. 

What flock wi' Hoodie's flock could rank, 
Sae hale and hearty every shank? 
Nae poisoned sour Arminian stank, 

He let them taste. 
Frae Calvin's well, aye clear, they drank,- — 

0' sic a feast ! 

The thummart,' wil'-cat, brock,* and tod,* 
Weel kenned his voice through a' the wood, 
He smelt their Uka hole and road, 

Baith out and in, 
And weel he liked to shed their bluid, 

And seU their skin. 

What herd like Ens sell telled his tale ? . 
His voice was heard through muir and dale, 
He kenned the Lord's sheep, ilka tail. 

O'er a' the height, 
And saw gin they were sick or hale. 

At the first sight. 



♦ Badaer. 



Stray sheep ; old ewes. 
Fox. 



Polecat 






THE TWA HERDS. 466 

He fine a mangy sheep could scrub. 

Or nobly fling the gospel club, 

And New-Light herds could nicely drub, 

Or pay their skin ; 
Could shake them owre the burning dub/ 

Or heave them in. 

Sic twa — 0, do I live to see 't ! — 
Sic famous twa should disagreet, 
An' names, like " villain," " hypocrite," 

Ilk ither gi'en, 
While New-Light herds, wi' laughin' spito. 

Say neither 's liein' ! 

A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld, 

There 's Duncan deep, and Peebles shaul,' 

But chiefly thou, apostle Auld, 

We trust in thee, 
That thou wilt work them, hot and cauld, 

Till they agree. 

Consider, sirs, how we 're beset ; 
There 's scarce a new herd that we get 
But comes frae 'mang that cursed set 

I wiuna name ; 
I hope frae heaven to see them yet 

In fiery flame. 

Dalrymple ' has been lang our fae, 
M'Gill * has wrought us meikle wae, 
And that cursed rascal ca'd M'Onhae,* 

And baith the Shawa,* 
That aft ha'e made us black and blae 

Wi' vengefu' paws. 

Auld Wodrow ' lang has batched mischief; 
We thought aye death wad bring relief, 
But he has gotten, to our grief, 

Ane to succeed him, 
A chiel wha'U soundly buff our beef ;' 

I meikle dread him. 

' Pond. « Shallow. 

• Rev. Dr. Dalrymple, one of the ministers of Ayr. 

• Kev. William M'fJill, one of the ministers of Ayr, 

• Minister of St. Qiiivn.x. 

• Dr. Andrew Shaw, of Craigie, and Dr. David Shaw, of Coyltuu 
' Dr. Peter Wodrow, at Tarbolton. 

• Beat da. This was Mr. M'Math. 

H U 



*'J6 HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER. 

Andi mony a ane that I could tell, 
Wha fain would openly rebel, 
Forbye turncoats amang ouvsel', 

There 's Smith for ane ; 
I doubt he 's but a grey-nick quill, 

An that ye '11 fin'. 

! a' ye flocks o'er a' the hills, 

By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells. 

Come, join your counsel and your skills 

To cowe the lairds, 
And get the brutes the powers themsel's 

To choose their herds. 

Then Orthodoxj yet may prance, 
And Learning in a woody dance, 
And that fell cur ca'd Common Sense» 

That bites sae sair. 
Be banished o'er the sea to France : 

Let him bark there. 

Then Shaw's and Dalrymple's eloquence, 
M' Gill's close nervous excellence, 
M'Quhae's pathetic, manly sense. 

And gu'id M'Math, 
Wi' Smith, wha through the heart can glance, 

May a' pack afF. 



HOLY WILLIE'S PE,ATER.» 

Thou, wha in the heav'ns dost dwell, 
Wha, as it pleases best thysel', 

Sends ane to heaven and ten to hell, 

A' for thy glory. 
And no for ony guid or iU 

They've done afore thee I 

1 bless and praise thy matchless might, 
Whan thousands thou hast left in night* 
That I am here, afore thy sight. 

For gifts an' grace, 
A burnin' an' a shinin' light 

To a' this place. 

•''Holy Willie " was William Fisher, a hypociitica! farmer, and leading 
elder of Mauchline parish. He had persecuted (javiu Hamilton, the Poet's 
friend, for setting a beggar to work on Sunday in his garden, fqfgetting 
the day. Burn:? thus revenged his patron. 



IIP 



J 



HOLY WILLIE'S PRATER. 4.&I 

What was I, or my generation, 
That I should get sic exaltation ? 
I, wha deserve sic just danmation 

For broken laws 
Five thousand years 'fore my creation, 

Through Adam's cause. 

Vhen frae my mither's womb I fell, 
You might ha'e plunged me into hell. 
To gnash my gums, to weep and wail. 

In burnin' lake. 
Where damned devils roar and yell. 

Chained to a stake. 

Yet I am here, a chosen sample, 

To show thy grace is great and ample; 

I 'm here a pillar in thy temple, 

Strong as a rock, 
A guide, a buckler, au example 

To a' thy flock. 

O L — d ! thou kens what zeal I bear. 
When drinkers drink, aud swearers swearj 
And singing there, and dancim;- here, 

Wi' great and sma' ; 
For I am keepit by thy fear, 

Free frae them a*. 

But yet, L — d ! confess I must, 
At times I 'm fashed wi' fleshly lust ; 
And sometimes, too, wi' warldly trust, 

Vile self gets in ; 
But thou remembers we are dust, 

Defiled in sin. 

O L — d 1 yestreen, thou kens, wi' i\Ieg— 
Thy pardon I sincerely heg, — 
O, may it ne'er be a livin' yjlague 

To my dishonour ! 
And 1 '11 ne'er lift a lawless leg 

Again upon her 

Besides, I fui-ther maun avow, 
Wi' Lizzie's lass, three times I trow- 
But, L — d ! that Friday I was fou' 

When I came near her. 
Or else, thou kens, thy servant true 

Wad n'd'er ha'e steered her. 



468 HOLY WILLIE'S PRATER. 

Maybe thou lets this fleshly thorn 
Beset thy servant e'en and morn, 
Lest he owre high and proud should turn, 

'Cause he 's sae gifted ! 
If sae, thy han' maun e'en be borne 

Until thou lift it. 

L — d, bless thy chosen in this place, 
For here thou hast a chosen race : 
But G-d confound their stubborn face, 

And blast their name, 
Wha bring thy elders to disgrace 

And public shame ! 

L — d, mind Gawn Hamilton's deserts ! 
He drinks, and swears, and plays at cartes, 
Yet has sae mony takin' arts 

Wi' great and sma', 
Frae G-d's ain priests the people's hearts 

He steals awa'. 

An' whan we chastened him therefore, 
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore,' 
As set the warld in a roar 

0' laughin' at us; 
Curse thou his basket and liis store. 

Kail and potatoes ! 

L — d, hear my earnest cry and prayer, 

Against the presbyt'ry of Ayr; 

Thy strong right hand, L — d, mak' it bare 

Upo' their heads ! 
L — d, weigh it down, and dinna spare. 

For their misdeeds ! 

O L — d, my G^d ! that ghb-tongued Aiken,- 
My very heart and soul are quakin*, 
To think how we stood groanin', shakin'. 

And swat wi' dread, 
While Auld wi' hinging lip gaed snakin', 

And hid his head. 

L — d, in the day of vengeance try him ! 
L — d, visit them wha did employ him ! 
And pass not in thy mercy by 'em, 

iSov hear their prayer ; 
But, for thy people's sake, destroy 'em, 

And dinua spare ! 

' Eiot. 



t 



J 



EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE. 469 

But, L — d, remember me aud mine 
Wi' mercies temp'ral and divine, 
That 1 for gear and grace may shine, 

Excelled by nane. 
An' a' the glory shall be thine, 

Amen, amen! 

" ' Holy Willie's Prayer ' is a piece of satire more exquisitely severa 
than any which Burns ever afterwards wrote." — Sir Walter Scott. 



EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE.» 



Here Holy Willie's sair-worn clay 

Tak's up its last abode ; 
His saul has ta'en some other way, — 

I fear the left-hand road. 



Stop ! there he is, as sure 's a gun, — 

Poor silly body, see him ! 
Nae wonder he 's as black 's the gruu,- 

Observe wha's standing wi' him ! 



Your brunstane devilship, I see, 
Has got him there before ye ; 

But baud your uiue-tail cat a wee, 
Till ance ye 've heard my story. 

Your pity I will not implore. 

For pity ye ha'e nane ; 
Justice, alas ! has gi'en him o'er. 

And mercy's day is gauQ. 



But hear me, sir, de'il as ye are, — 
Look something to your credit ; 

A coof * like him wad stain your name. 
If it were kenned ye did it. 



' This man was a great hypocrite, a drunkard, and a robber of the 
poor. He died drunk in a ditch. 
» Fool. 



r 



470 
ADDRESS OF BEELZEBUB 

TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE HIGHLAND SOCIETY. 

[The "Address of Beelzebub" made its first appearance in the Scott 
Mci'/azine for February, 181S, printed from the manuscript of Liurus, and 
headed thus: — "To the lliglit Honourable the Earl of IJreadalbane, 
President of the Right Honourable the Highland Society, whicli met on 
the 23rd of May last, at the Sliakspeare, Ooveut Garden, to concert ways 
and means to frustrate the designs of five hundred Highlanders, who, aa 

the society were informed by Mr. M , of A s, were so audacious 

as to attempt an escape from their lawful lords and masters, whose property 
they were, by emigration from the lauds of Mr. M 'Donald, of Glengarry, 
to the wilds of Canada, in search of that fantastic thing, Liberty."] 

Long life, my lord, and health be yours, 
Unscaithed by hungered Highland boors I 
Lord, grant nae duddie,' desperate beggar, 
Wi' dirk, claymore, or rusty trigger, 
May twin ^ auld Scotland o' a life 
She likes— as lambkius like a knife. 

Faith, you and A s were right 

To keep the Highland hounds in sight. 

I doubt na, they wad bid nae better; 

Then let them ance out owre the water; 

Then up aniang thae lakes and seas 

They '11 mak' what rules and laws they please ; 

Some daring Hancock, or a Franklin, 

May set their Highland bluid a-ranklin' ; 

Some Washington again may head them, 

Or some Montgomery fearless lead them, 

Till God knows what may be effected 

When by such heads and hearts directed. 

Poor dunghill sons of dirt and mire 

May to patrician rights aspire ! 

Nae sage North, now, nor sager Sackville, 

To watch and premier o'er the paclc vile ; 

And whare will ye get Howes and Clintons 

To bring them to a right repentance, 

To cowe the rebel generation. 

And save the honour o' the nation ? 

They and be ! what right ha'e they 

To meat or sleep or light o' day ? 
Far less to riches, power, or freedom, 
But what your lordship likes to gi'e them® 
But hear, my lord ! Glengariy, hear! 
Your hand's owre light on them, I fear. 

' H^i-SrJ. * Deprive. 



1 



ON THE DUKK OF QUEENSLEhUY. 47i 

Your factors, grieves, trustees, and bailies, 
I caiina say but they do gaylies ; ' 
They lay aside a' tender mercies, 
And tiri tb.e hallions to the bii'ses ; - 
Yet ■while tliey 're only \ oind't and herriet,^ 
They'll kcej:) their stubborn Highland spirit; 
But smash them — crash thcni a' to spails ! * 
And rot the dyvors * i" the jails ! 
The young dogs, swinge " them to the labour ; 
Let wark and hunger ma,k' themt' sober! 
The hizzies, if they 're aughtlins awsont,' 
Let them in Drury Lane be lessoned ! 
And if the wives and dirty brats 
E'en thigger ^ at ycur doors and yetts,' 
FlafFan wi' duds " and gray wi' beas'," 
Frightin* awa' your deubs and geese, 
Get out a horsewhip or a jowler, 
The langest thong, the fiercest growler, 
And gar '- the tattered gipsies pack 
Wi' a' their bastards on their back ! 
Go on, my lord ! I king to meet you, 
And in my house at hame to greet you ! 
Wi' common lords ye shanna mingle, — 
The benraost neuk beside the ingle, 
At my right han', assigned your seat, 
'Tween Herod's hip and Polycrate, — 
Or if you on your station tarrow,'^ 
Between Almagro and Pizarro. 
A seat, I 'm sure 3'e 're well dcservin't: 
And till ye come — Your humble servant, 

Beelzebub. 
Juve 1, Anno Mundi 5790 [a.d. 1786]. 



STANZAS ON THE DUKE OF QUEENSBERRY. 

How shall I sing Drumlanrig's Grace — 
Discarded remnant of a race 

Once great in martial story? 
His forbears' virtues all contrasted — 
The very name of Douglas blasted — 

His that inverted glory. 

* Pretty well. '' And strip the clowns to the skin. 

* Sokl out and despoiled. * Oiips. * Bankrupts. 

* Whip. '' The girls, if they be at all liaiidsome. 

* Crowd. ^ Gates. '" Fluttering with raj 
" Vermin. '* Make. '' Murmur. 



472 SKETCH OF A CHARACTER, 

Hate, envy, oft the Douglas bore; 
But he has superadded more. 

And siinlc them in contempt; 
Follies and crimes have stained the name; 
But, Qneensberry, thine the virgin chum- 

From aught that 's good exempt. 



SKETCH OF A CHAEACTBR. 

["This fragment," says Burns to Dugald Stewart, " I have not stown 
to man living till I now send it to you. It forms the postulata, the axioms, 
the definition of a character, which, if it appear at all, shall be placed in 
a variety of lights. This particular part I send you merely as a sample 
of my hand at portrait-sketching."] 

A LITTLE, upright, pert, tart, tripping wight. 
And still his precious self his dear delight ; 
Who loves his own smart shadow in the streets 
Better than e'er the fairest she he meets : 
A man of fashion, too, he made his tour. 
Learned Vive la bagatelle ! et Vive I'amour! 
So travelled monkeys their grimace improve, 
Polish their grin — nay, sigh for ladies' love. 
Much specious lore, but little understood ; 
Veneering oft outshines the solid wood: 
His solid sense by inches you must tell, 
But mete his cunning by the old Scot's ell ; 
His meddling vanity, a busy fiend. 
Still making work his selfish craft must mend. 



MONODY ON A LADY FAMED FOE HEE CAPEICE. 

How cold is that bosom which folly once fired ! 

How pale is that cheek where the ronge lately glistened.' 
Ho'"^ siient that tongue which the echoes oft tired ! 

How dull is that ear which to flattery so listened ! 

■ If sorrow and anguish their exit await. 

From friendship and dearest aff'ection removed; 
How doubly severer, Eliza, tliy fate, — 

Thou diedst unwept as thou livedst unloved. 

Loves, Gra,ces, and Virtues, I call not on you ; 

So sliv, grave, and distant, ye shed not a tear; 
But come, all ye oft'spring of Folly so true. 

And flowers let us cull for EHza's cold bier. 



Q 







MONODY ON A LADY. 473 

Wfe '11 searcli through the garden for each silly flower, 
"We '11 roam through the forest for each idle weed ; 

But chiefly the nettle, so typical, shower, 

For none e'er approached her hut rued the rash deed 

We '11 sculpture the marble, we '11 measure the lay. 

Here Vanity strums on her idiot lyre; 
There keen Indignation shall dart on her prey, 

Which spurning Contempt shall redeem from hia ire* 



THE EPITAPH. 



Here lies, now a prey to insulting neglect, 

What once was a butterfly gay in life's beam % 

Want only of wisdom denied her respect, 
Want only of goodness denied her esteem. 



^ptapl^s, (2Bprgram^, ^rfempare 



EPITAPH ON MY FATHER. 

O TE, whose cheek the tear of pity stains, 
Draw near with pious rev'rence and attend! 

Here lie the loving husband's dear remains, 
The tender father, and the generous friend. 

The pitying heart that felt for human woe ; 

The dauntless heart that feared no human pride ; 
The friend of man, to vice alone a foe ; 

" For ev'n his failings leaned to virtue's side." * 



EPITAPH ON JOHN DOVE, 

INNKEEPER, MAUCHLINE. 

Here lies Johnny Pidgeon; 

What was his religion ? 

Whae'er desires to ken, 

To some other warl' 

Maun follow the can. 

For here Johnny Pidgeon had nane J 

Strong ale was ablution, — 
Small beer persecution, — 
A dram w5,s memento mori; 
But a full flowing bowl 
Was the saving his soul. 
And port was celestial glory. 

EPITAPH ON JOHN BUSHBT, 

WRITER IN DUMFRIES. 

Hkre lies John Bushijy, honest man I 
Cheat him, Devil, if you can- 

' Goldsmith-- ' Deserted Village," 



^ 



475 



EPITAPH ON" A WAG IN MAUCHLINB. 

Lamekt him, Mauchline husbands a'. 

He aften did assist ye ; 
For had ye staid whole weeks awa', 

Your wives they ne'er had missed ye. 

Ye Manchline bairns, as on ye pass 

To school in bands thegither, 
0, tread ye lightly on his grass. 

Perhaps he was your father. 



EPITAPH ON A CELEBRATED SULING ELDER 

Here Souter Hood in death does sleep ; 

To Hell, if he 's gaue thither, 
Satan, gi'e him thy gear to keep, 

He 'U haud it well thegither. 



EPITAPH FOR ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ. 

Know thou, stranger to the fame 
Of this much-loved, much-honoured name, 
(For none that knew him need be told) 
A warmer heart Death ne'er made cold. 



EPITAPH FOR GAYIN HAMILTON, ESQ. 

The poor man weeps — here Gavin sleeps, 
Whom canting wretches blamed : 

But with such as he, where'er he be, 
May I be saved or damned ! 



A BARD'S EPITAPH. 

Is there a whim -inspired fool, 

Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, 

Owre blate ' to seek, owre proud to suool?* 

Let him draw near ; 
And owre this grassy heap sing dool,^ 

And drap a tear. 

Shame-faced. * Cringe- ' Sadly. 



^m 



476 ON A FRIEJ\fD. 

Is there a bard of rustic song 

Who, noteless, steals the crowds among. 

That weekly this area throng ? 

0, pass not by ! 
But, with a frater-feeling strong, 

Here heave a sigh. 

Is there a man, whose judgment clear 
Can others teach the course to steer, 
Yet runs, himself, life's mad career 

Wild as the wave ? 
Here pause — and, through the starting teat", 

Survey this grave. 

The poor inhabitant below 

Was quick to learn, and wise to know. 

And keenly felt the friendly glow, 

And softer flame. 
But thoughtless follies laid him low, 

And stained his uame I 

Reader, attend ! Whether thy soul 
Soars Fancy's flights beyond the pole, 
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole 

In low pursuit ; 
Know, prudent, cautious self-control 

Is wisdom's root. 



EPITAPH ON A FRIEND. 

An honest man here lies at rest, 
As e'er God with His image blest; 
The friend of man, the friend of truth ; 
The friend of age, and guide of youth : 
Few hearts Uke his, with virtue warmed. 
Few heads with knowledge so informed : 
If there 's another world, he lives in bliss; 
If there is none, he made the best of this. 



A GRACE •BEFORE DINNER. 

O Thou, who kindly dost 2)rovide 
For every creature's want ! 

We bless Thee, God of Nature wide, 
For all Thy goodness lent : 



o 



OiV TAM THE CBAPMAN. 47? 

Aijil, if it please Thee, Heavenly Guide, 

]\Iay never worse be sent ; 
But whether granted or denied. 

Lord, bless us with content! 

Amen. 



OK TAM THE CHAPMAK» 

As Tarn the Chapman on a day 

Wi' Death I'orgathered by the way, 

Weel pleased, he greets a wiglit sae famous. 

And Death was nae less pleased wi' 'Thonias, 

Wha cheerfully lays down the pack, 

And there bJaws up a hearty crack; 

His social, friendly, honest heart 

Sae tickled Death, they could na part : 

Sae, after viewing knives and garters. 

Death takes him hame to gi'e him quarters. 



A FAEEWELL.* 

Farettell, dear friend ! may Guid-Luck hit yoTi, 
And 'mang her favourites admit you ! 
If e'er Detraction shore ^ to smit you, 

May nane believe him ! 
«And ony de'il that thinks to get you, 

Good Lord deceive him I 



ON BUENS'S HORSE BEING IMPOUNDED BY 
THE MAYOE OF CARLISLE. 

Was e'er puir poet sae befitted ? 

The maister di unk, — the horse committed : 

Puir harmless beast ! tak' thee nae care, 

Thou 'It be a horse when he 's nae mair (mayor). 

' Mr. Kennedy, an agent to a mercantile house in the neigbliourljood 
of Ayr. The lines were composed impromptu by Burns on meeting liis 
friend after his recovery from a severe illness. 

■^ Addressed to Mr. John Kennedy. ^ Threaten. 



^ r 

478 



0]Sr WEE JOHKNY.» 

HIC JACET WEE JOUNNY. 

"Whoe'er thou art, reader, know 
That Death has murdered Johnny ! 

An" here his body lies fu' low — 
For saul — he ne'er had ony. 



EPIGEAM ON BACOK* 

At Brownhill we always get dainty good cheer. 
And plenty of Bacon, each day in the year; 
We 've all things that 's neat, and mostly in seasoa. 
But why always Bacon? — come, give me a reason? 



VERSES TO J. EANKINB. 

Ae day, as Death, that grusome carl. 
Was driving to the tither warl' 
A mixtie-maxtie motley squad. 
And mony a guilt-bespotted lad ; 
Black gowns of each denomination, '^ 

And thieves of every rank and station, 
From him that wears the star and garter, 
To him that wintles in a halter ; 
Ashamed himsel' to see the wretches, 
He mutters, glow'rin' at the bitches, 
" By G — ! I '11 not be seen behint them, 
Nor 'mang the sp' ritual core present them. 
Without at least ae honest man 
To grace this damned infernal clan." 
By Adamhill a glance he threw, 

" L G — !" quoth he, " I have it now: 

There 's just the man I want, i' faith ! " 
And quickly stoppit Rankine's breath. 

• John Wilson, printer of the Kilmarnock edition of the Poet's works. 
^ liucon was the jiame of the huuUord of an inn at Brownhill, who had 
intruded himself on the Poet and a fellow-guest. 



r 



a 



479 



VEESES TO JOHN RANKINB. 

I AM a keeper of the law 

In some sma' points, although not a' : 

Some people tell me gin I fa' 

Ae way or ither, 
The breaking of ae point, though sma', 

Breaks a' thegither. 

I ha'e been in for 't ance or twice, 
And winna say o'er far for thrice, 
Yet never met with that surprise 

That broke my rest, 
But now a rumour 's Uke to rise — 

A whaup 's i' the nest 



ON A NOISY POLEMIC* 

Below thir stanes lie Jamie's banes; 

Death ! it 's my opinion. 
Thou ne'er took such a bleth'rin' b — h 

Into thy dark dominion ! 



ON A NOTED COXCOMB. 

Light lay the earth on Billy's breast. 
His chicken heart so tender; 

But build a castle on his head, 
His skull will prop it under. 



ON MISS JEAN SCOTT, OF ECCLEFEOHA]!*. 

O, HAD each Scot of ancient times 

Been, Jeanny Scott, as thou art, 
The bravest heart on English ground 

Had yielded like a coward. 

' James Humphrey, by trade a maaou. 

t 



r 



480 



ON A KEN-PECKED COUNTRY SQUIRK 

As father Adam first was fooled, 
A case that 's still too common. 

Here lies a man a woman ruled — 
The Devil ruled the woman. 



ON THE SAME. 

O Death ! hadst thou but spared his life 

Whom we this day lament, 
We freely wad exchanged the wife, 

An' a' been weei content ! 

E'en as he is, cauld in his graff," 

The swap we yet will do 't ; 
Tak' thou the carlin's '^ carcase a^ 

Thou 'se get the saul to boot. 



ON THE SAME. 

One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell, 
When deprived of her husband she loved so well, 
In respect for the love and affection he 'd shown her. 
She reduced him to dust and she drank up the powder. 

But Queen Netherplace, of a different complexion, 
When called on to order the funeral direction, 
Would have ate her dead lord, on a slender pretence. 
Not to show her respect, but — to save the expense I 



THE HIGHLAND WELCOME. 

When death's dark stream I ferry o'er, — 
A time that surely shall come ; 

In heaven itself T '11 ask no more 
Than just a H'ghland welcome. 

* Grave. ' Old woman. 



LjI 



481 



VERSES, 

WRITTEN ON A WINDOW OF THE INN AT CARBON. 

"We cam' na here to view your warka. 

In liopes to be mair wise, 
But only, lest we gang to hell, 

It may be nae surprise ; 

But whan we tirleJ at your door, 
Your porter dought na hear us ; 

Sae may, should we to hell's yetts come, 
Your biUy Satan sair us ! 



LINES ON VIEWING STIRLING PALACE. 

Here Stuarts once in glory reigned, 

And laws for Scotland's weal ordained ; 

But now unroofed their palace stands. 

Their sceptre 's swayed by other hands : 

The injured Stuart line is gone, 

A race outlandish fills their throne — 

An idiot race, to honour lost ; 

Who know them best, despise them most. 



THE POET'S SELF-REPROOF. 

Rash mortal, and slanderous Poet ! thy name 
Shall no longer appear in the records of Fame ; 

Dost not know, that old Mansfield, who writes like the 
Bible, 

Says, The more 'tis a truth, sir, the more 'tis a hbel? 



LINES 



WRITTEN UNDER THE PICTURE OF THE CELEBRATED MISS BURNS. 

Oease, ye prudes, your envious railing. 
Lovely Burns has charms — confess: 

True it is, she had one failing — 
Bad a woman ever less P 

II 



^ 



REPLY TO THE MINISTER OF GLADSMUIR. 

The minister of Gladsmuir had written a reproof of the "Linea on 
viewing Stirling Palace." Burns dashed out the pane of glass containing 
them, and wrote as lollows : — 

Like ^sop's lion, Bums says, sore I feel 
All others' scorn — ^but damn that ass's heel! 



JOHNNY PEEP. 

Here am I, Johnny Peep : 
I saw three sheep, 

And these three sheep saw me J 
Half- a- crown a-piece 
Will pay for their fleece, 

And so Johnny Peep gets free.' 



THE HEN-PECKED HUSBAND. 

Cursed be the man, the poorest wretch in lifei, 
The crouching vassal to the tyrant wife ! 
Who has no will but by her high permission ; 
Who has not sixpence but in her possession ; 
Who must to her his dear friend's secret tell ; 
Who dreads a curtain lecture worse than heU ! 
Were such the wife had fallen to my part, 
I 'd break her spii-it, or I 'd break her heart; 
I 'd charm her with the magic of a switch, 
I 'd kiss her maids, and kick the perverse bitch. 

' Bums was one day at a cattle market, held in a town in Cumberland, 
and, in the bustle that prevailed, he lost sight of some of the friends 
who accompanied him. He entered a tavern, opened the door of every 
room, and merely looked in, till at last he came to one in which thref 
jolly Cumberland men were enjoying themselves. As he withdrew hL*- 
head, one of them shouted, "Come in, Johnny Peep.'' Burns obeyed the 
call, seated himself at the table, and, in a short time, was the life and 
soul of the party. In the cour.se of their merriment, it was proposed 
that eacu should write a stanza of poetry, and put it, with half-a- crown, 
below the candlestick, with this stipulation, that the best poet was to 
have his half-crown returned, while the other three were to be expended 
to treat the party. What the others wrote has now sunk into o-t'livion. 
The stanza of the Ayrshire ploughman being read, a roar of lAi'^^Nter 
followed, and while the palm of victory was unanimously voted to Bfrns, 
one of the Englishmen exclaimed, "Who are you?" An explanation 
ensued, and the happy party did not separate the day they met- 



& 



Jll 

483 

ON mCIVILITY SHOWN HIM AT INVERART. 

Whoe'er he be that sojourns here, 

I pity much his case, 
Uuless he come to wait upon 

The lord their god, his Grace. 

There 's naething here but Highland pride, 

And Highland cauld and hunger ; 
If Providence has sent me here, 

'Twas surely in His anger. 



ON BLPHINSTONE'S TRANSLATIONS OP 
MARTIAL'S EPIGRAMS.' 

O Tiiou whom Poesy abhors ! 
Whom Prose has turned out of dooi's ! 
Heardst thou that groan ? — proceed no further- 
'Twas laurelled Martial roaring " Murther 1 " 



ON A SCHOOLMASTER. 

Heke lie Willie Michie's banes ; 

Satan! when ye tak' him, 
Gi'e him the schoolin" o' your weans*, 

Eor clever de'ils he '11 mak' 'em I ' 



ON ANDREW TURNER. 

In se'enteen hunder an' forty-nine 
Satan took stuff to mak' a swine, 

And cuistit in a corner; 
But wilily he changed his plan, 
And shajDed it something like a man. 

And ca'd it Andrew Turner. 

' "Stopping at a merchant's shop in Edinburgh," says Bums, "a 
friend of mine, one day, put ' Elphinstone's Trinslation of Martial' into 
my hand, and desired my opinion of it. I asked permission to write my 
opinion on a blank leaf of the book, which, being granted, I wrote this 
eijigiam." 

* Willie Michie was schoolmaster of Cleish parish, in Fifeshira, 



484 



ON ME. W. CRUIKSHANKa 

Hf)NiiST Will 's to heaven gane. 
And mony shall lament him, 

His faults tiiey a' in Latin lay, 
In English nane e'er kent them. 



ON WAT. 

Bic a reptile was Wat, 

Sic a miscreant slave, 
riiat the very worms damned him* 

When laid in his grave. 
*' In his flesh there 's a famine,'" 

A starved reptile cries ; 
•• An' his heart is rank poison," 

Another replies. 



ON CAPTAIN FEANCIS GEOSB. 

'I'flE Devil got notice that Grose was a-dying, 

So, whip ! at the summons old Satan came flying 

But when he approached where poor Francis lay moaning, 

And saw each bed-post with its bui-den a-groaning, 

Astonished, confounded, cried Satan, " By God ! 

I 'D want him, ere I take such a damnable load ! " 



ON THE KIRK OF LAMINGTON, 

IN CLYDESDALE. 

As cauld a wind as ever blew, 
A caulder kirk, and in 't but fcTV; 
As cauld a Minister 'e e'er spak', — 
Te'se a' be het ere I come back.* 



r 



• Burns left tliis epigram in his pew at Lamington Kirk one Sunday. 

"I. 



I 

I 






486 



LINES 

WniTTEN ON A ?ANE OF GLASS, IN THE INN AT MOTFATT, ON 
BEING ASKED WHY GOD HAD MADE THE BEAUTIFUL MISS 
DAVIES BO LITTLE AND THE FE-IEND "WHO WAS WITH HER SO 
TALL. 

Ask why God made the gem so small. 
And why so huge the granite ? 

Because God meant mankind should set 
The higher value on it. 



LINES SPOKEN EXTEMPORE, 

ON BEING APPOINTED TO THE EXCISE. 

Searching auld wives' ban-els, 

Och, hen ! the day ! 
That clarty barm should stain my laurels ; 

But — what '11 ye say ? 
Those movin' things ca'd wives and weans 
Wad move the very hearts o' stanes ! 



YEESES 

ADDRESSED TO THE LANDLADY OF THE INN AT ROSSLYN. 

My blessings on you, sonsie wife ! 

I ne'er ^vas here before ; 
You 've gi'en as walth for horn and knife, 

Nae heart could wish for more. 
Heaven keep you free frae care and strife, 

TUl far ayont fourscore ; 
And. while 1 toddle on through life, 

I '11 ne'er gang by your door. 



EPITAPH ON W . 

Stop, thief! dame Nature cried to Deaths 
As Willie drew his latest breath ; 
You have my choicest model ta'en, — 
How shall I make a fool again ? 



T 



% 



486 



ON MRS. KBMBLE. 

[WRITIEN EXTEMPORE ON SEEING lIEll ACT IN THE PABT 01 
YAKICO, 1794.] 

Kimble, thou cnr'st my unbelief 

Of Moses and his rod ; 
At Yarico's sweet notes of j^-ief 

The rock with tears had flowed. 



mSORIPTIOIT ON A GOBLET. 

There 's death in the cup — sae beware ! 

Nay, more — there is danger in touching'; 
But wha can avoid the fell snare ? 

TIk) man and his wine 's sae bewitching ! ^ 



POETICAL REPLY TO AN INVITATION. 

Sib, 
Yoiirs this moment I unseal, 

And, faith, I 'm gay and hearty ! 
To tell the truth an' shame the de'il, 

I am as fou' as Bartie : ^ 

But foorsday, sir, my j^romise leal. 

Expect me o' your party, 
If on a beastie I can speel, 

Or hurl in a cartie.— R. B. 
Mossgid, 1786. 



ANOTHER, 

The King's most humble servant, I 

Can scarcely spare a minute ; 
But I '11 be wi' you by-and-by, 

Or else the devil 's in it. 

* One day, after dinner at Ryedale, Burns wrote these lines on a goblet 
with his diamond. Syme would seem to have been less affected with the 
compliment than witii defacin;.' his crystal service, for he threw the goblet 
behind the fire. We are not told vvliat the Poet thought, but it is said that 
Brown, the clerk of " Stamp-office Johnny," snatched the goblet out ol 
the fire uninjured, and kept it as a relique till his death. — Cu.nningham. 

* A Kyle proverbial saying. 

L 



I 



487 



A MOTHEE'S ADDRESS TO HEE INFANT. 

My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie ! 

My blessin's upon thy bonnie e'e brie ! 
Thy smiles are sae like my blithe sodger laddie^ 

Thou 's aye the dearer and dearer to me 1 



THE CEEED OF POVEETT. 

I.N politics if thou wonldst mix. 

And mean thy fortunes be ; 
Bear this in mind, — "Be deaf and blind; 

Let great folks hear and see." 



WEITTEN m A LADY'S POCKET-BOOK. 

Grant me, indulgent Heaven ! that I may live 
To see the miscreants feel the pain they give ; 
Deal freedom's sacred treasures free as air, 
TUl slave and despot be but things which were S 



THE PAESON'S LOOKS. 

That there is falsehood in his looks 

I must and will deny ; 
They say their master is a knave — 

Aiid sure they do not lie. 



EXTEMPOEE. 

PnWED TO A lady's COACH. 

I? you rattle along like your mistress's tongue, 

Your speed will outrival the dart ; 
But a fly ior your load, you '11 break down on the road« 

If your stuff be as rotten 's her heart. 



ei 



1.^ 



486 



ON" ROBERT EIDDEL.i 

To Riddel, much-lamented man, 

This ivied cot was dear : 
Reader, dost value matchless worth P 

This ivied cot revere. 



IMPROMPTU, 

ON MBS. riddel's BIRTHDAY, NOVHMBER 4, 1793. 

Old Winter with his frosty beard, 
Thus once to Jove his prayer prefei-red : 
What have I done, of all the year, 
To bear this hated doom severe ? 
My cheerless suns no pleasure know ; 
Night's horrid car drags dreary, slow ; 
My dismal months no joys are crowning. 
But spleeny English, hanging, drowning. 

Now, Jove, for once be mighty civil. 

To counterbalance all this evil ; 

Give me, — and I 've no more to say, — 

Give me Maria's natal day ! 

That In-illiant gift will so enrich me. 

Spring, Summer, Autumn cannot match rae. 

'Tia done ! says Jove. So ends my story. 

And winter once rejoiced in glory. 



EXTEMPORE, 

ON THE LA.TE MR. WILLIAM SMELLIE, 

Author of " The Pliilosophy of Natural History," and member of Iht 
Antiquarian and Royal Societies of Edinburgh. 

To Crochallan came ^ 
The old cocked-hat, the grey surtout the same ; 
His bristling beard just rising in its might, 
'Twas four long days and nights to shaving-niglil ; 
His uncombed grizzly locl<s wild-staring, thatched 
A head for thought profound and clear unmatched ; 
Yet though his caustic wit was biting, rude, 
His heart was warm, benevolent, and good. 

' Traced on the window of Friar's Carse Hermitage by the diamond of 
Burns, after his friend's death. 

■^ Mr. Smellie and our Poet were both members of a club in Edin- 
burgh, under the name of Crochallan Fencibles. 

llLJJi • IL 



489 



EXTEMPOEE. 

TO MR. STME, 

On refusing to dine with him, after having been promised the first (A 
company and the first of cookery, December 17, 1785. 

No more of your guests, be they titled or not, 

And cook'ry the first in the nation ; 
Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit» 

Is proof to all other temptation. 



TO MR. STME. 
[With a present of a dozen of porter.] 

0, HAD the malt thy strength of mind. 

Or hops the flavour of thy wit ; 
'Twere drink for first of humankind, 
A gift that e'en for Syme were fitl 
Jerusalem Tavern, Dumfries. 



ON A PERSON NICKNAMED "THE MARQUIS,* 

THE LANDLORD OF A PUBLIC-HOUSE IN DUMFRIES. 

Here lies a mock Marquis, whose titles were shammed s 
If ever he rise, it will be to be damned. 



ON EXCISEMEN.^ 

[lTNES written on a window in DUMFRIES.] 

Ye men of wit and wealth, why all this sneering 
Gainst poor Excisemen ? Give the cause a hearing. 
What are your landlord's rent-rolls — taxing ledgers ; 
What Premiers — what? — even monarchs' migl ty gangers; 
Nay, what are priests, those seeming godly wise men ? 
What are they, praj'^, but spiritual Excisemen ? 

• One day, while in the King's Arms tavern, Dumfries, Burns over- 
heard a country gentleman talking sneei-ing'y of exi.-iseracn. The Poet 
WLiit to a window, and on one of the panes wi-ote this rebuke with hifl 
diamond. 



D 



490 



LTISTES WEITTEN ON A PANE OF GLASS, 

OK THE OCCASION OF A NATIONAL THANKSGIVING FOR A NAVAL 
VICTOBT. 

Yr hypocrites ! are these your pranks P 
To mui-der men, and gi'e God thanks ! 
For shame ! gi'e o'er, — proceed no further — 
God won't accept your thanks for murther 1 



YERSB 

■^yHITTEN ON A WINDOW OF THE GLOBE TAVERN, DUMFRIES. 

The gi-eybeard, old "Wisdom, may boast of his treasures, - 

Give me with gay Folly to live ; 
I grant him calm-blooded, time-settled pleasures, 

But Folly has raptures to give. 

INVITATION TO A MEDICAL GENTLEMAN 

TO ATTEND A MASONIC ANNIYERSAUY MEETING, 

Friday first's the day appointed. 
By our Hight Worshipful anointed. 

To hold our grand procession ; 
To get a blade o' Johnnie's morals, 
And taste a swatch o' Manson's barrels, 

I' the way of our profession. 
Our Master and the Brotherhood 

Wad a' be glad to see you ; 
For me I would be mair than proud 
To share the mercies wi' you. 
If Death, then, wi' scaith, then. 
Some mortal heart is hechtin. 
Inform him, and storm him. 
That Saturday ye'll fecht him. 

Robert Burns. 

WAR. 

I MUKDER hate, by field or flood, 

Though glory's name may screen ua; 

In wars at hame 1 '11 spend my blood. 
Life-giving wars of Venus. 



DRINKTNO. 401 

The deities that I adore 

A re social peace and plenty ; 
I 'm better pleased to make one more 

Than be the death o' twenty. 



DEINKING. 

Mr bottle is my holy pool, 
That heals the wounds o' care an' dool ; 
And Pleasure is a wanton trout. — 
An' ye drink it dry, ye '11 find him out. 



THE SELKIRK GRACE. 

When Bums was on a visit to St. Mary's Isle, the Earl of Selkirk 
requested him to say grace. He obeyed in the following words ;•— 

Some ha'e meat, and canna eat, 
And some wad eat that want it ; 

But we ha'e meat and we can eat» 
And sae the Lord be thankit. 



INNOCENCE. 

Innocence 
LooTcs gaily smiling on; while rosy Pleasure 
Hides young Desire amid her tiowery wreath, 
And pours her cup luxuriant : mantling high 
The sparking heavenly vintage. Love and Bliss I 



ON THE POET'S DAUGHTER, 

WB.0 DIED 1795. 

Here lies a rose, a budding rose. 
Blasted before its bloom ; 

Whose innocence did sweets disclose 
Beyond that flower's perfume. 

To those who for her loss are grieved. 
This consolation 's given — 

She 's from a woA-ld of woe relieved, 
And blooms, a rose, in Heaven. 



C 



h 



492 

ON GABETEL RICHAEDSON, 

BEEWER, DUMFRIES. 
[Written on a goblet. ] 

Here brewer Gabriel's fire 's extinct, 
And empty all his barrels : 

He 's blest — if, as he brewed, he dri ak- 
in upright honest morals. 



ON THE DEATH OF A LAP-DOG. 

NAMED " ECHO." 

In wood and wild, ye warbling throng, 

Yonr heavy loss dejilore ; 
Now half-extinct yonr powers of song. 

Sweet Echo is no more. 

Ye jarring, screeching things around, 
Scream your discordant joys ; 

Now half your din of tuneless sound 
With Echo silent lies. 



ON SEEING THE BEAUTIFUL SEAT OP LORD 
GALLOWAY. 

What dost thou in that mansion fair P 

Flit, Galloway, and find 
Some narrow, dirty dungeon cave, 

The picture of thy mind ! 



ON THE SAME. 

No Stewart art thou, Galloway, — 
The Stewarts all were brave : 

Besides, the Stewarts were but fools, 
Not one of them a knave. 



Q 



4ad 



-ON" THE SAME. 



Bhtght ran thy line, Galloway / 
Throiigh many a far-famed sire ; 

So ran the far-famed Roman wa/,^ 
So ended — in a mire ! 



TO THE SAME. 

^OH THE AUIHOE BEING THREATENED WITH HIS RESENTJLENTJ 

Spare me thy vengeance, Galloway,— 

In quiet let me live : 
I ask no kindness at thy hand, 

For thou hast none to give. 



ON A COUNTRY LAIRD. 
[an election squib.] 

Bless the Redeemer, Cardoness, 
"With grateful lifted eyes. 

Who said that not the soul alone, 
But body too, must rise ; 

For had He said, " The soul alone 
From death I will deliver ; " 

Alas ! alas ! Cardoness, 
Then thou hadst slept tor ever I 



THE TRUE LOYAL NATIVES. 

Ye true " Loyal Natives," attend to my song; 

In uproar and riot rejoice the night long ; 

From envy and hatred your corps is exempt. 

But where is your shield from the darts of contempt P 

The origin of these lines is related by Cromek. When politics ran high, 
the Poet happened to bo in a tavern, and the followini; lines — the pro- 
duction of one of "The True Loyal Natives,'— vere handed over the tabl« 
to Burns : 



J 



494 Oii^ A SUICIDS. 

*' Te sons of sedition, give ear to my song, 

Let Syme, Burns, and Maxwell pervade every throng ; 
With Cruken the attorney, and Mundell the quack, 
Send Willie the monger to hell with a smack.'' 

The Poet took out a pencil ami instantly wrote the above reply.- 



ON A SUICIDE. 

Earthed up here lies an imp o* hell. 

Planted by Satan's dibble : 
Poor silly wretch ! he 's damned hirasel* 
To save the Lord the trouble. 



TO MRS. 

ON BJECErVTNG A WOEK OP HANNAH MOKB. 

Tiiou flattering mark of friendship kind. 
Still may thy pages call to mind 

The dear, the beauteous donor ! 
Though sweetly female every part, 
Yet such a head, and more the heart. 

Does both the sexes honour 
Slio showed her taste refined and jnst 

When she selected thee. 
Yet deviating, own I must, 
!For so approving me. 

But kind still, I mind still 

The giver in the gift ; 
I '11 bless her, and wiss her 
A friend above the Lift. 



TO MISS JESSY LEWARS.' 

Talk not to me of savages 

From Afric's burning sun ; 
No savage e'er could rend my heart 

As, Jessy, thou hast done. 

' Jessy Lewars was the young friend whose tender care soothed tho 
last illness of Burns. His surgeon ciime in one day while she was with 
him, and oft'ered her a list of wild beasts belonging to a menagerie just 
arrived in the town. Bunxs caught the paper from his hand, aud wrote 
<sn the back of it the above verses. 



TC-l 



TEE TOAST. 49fi 

And Jessy's lovely hand in mine, 

A mutual faith to plight, 
Not even to view the heavenly choir 

Would be so blest a sight. 



THE TOAST. 

Fill me with the rosy wine; 
Call a toast — a toast divine ; 
Give the Poet's darling flame,— 
Lovely Jessy be the name : 
Then thou mayest freely boast 
Thou hast given a peerless toast. 



ON THE SICKNESS OF MISS JESSY LEWAHS. 

Say, sages, what 's the charm on earth 

Can turn Death's dart aside ? 
It is not purity and worth, 

Else Jessy had not died. — R. B. 



ON THE EECOVERT OF JESSY LBWAES. 

But rarely seen since Nature's birth. 

The natives of the sky , 
Yet still one seraph 's left on earth. 

For Jes.sy did not die. — R. B. 



THE BLACK- HEADED EAGLE. 

A FBAGMENT, 
On the defeat of the Austrians by Dumourier, at Gemappe, Not. 1792 

The black-headed eagle. 

As keen as a beagle, 
He hunted o'er height and owre howe ; 

But fell in a trap 

On the braes o' Gemappe : 
E'en let him come out as he do we. 



496 



A BOTTLE Al^D AN HONEST FETEND.* 

•* There 's nana that 's blest of humankind. 
But the cheerful and the gay, man. 
Fal lal," &c. 

Here 's a bottle and an honest friend ! 

What wad you wish for mair, man ? 
Wha kens, before his life may end, 

What his share may be of care, man P 

Then catch the moments as they fly. 
And use them as ye ought, man : 

Believe me, Happiness is shy, 

And. comes not aye when sought, mau. 



GRACE AFTER DINNER. 

O Thou, in whom we live and move, 
Who mad'st the sea and shore ; 

Thy goodness constantly we prove. 
And, grateful, would adore. 

And if it please Thee, Power above, 
Still grant us, with such store, 

The friend we trust, the fair we lovOi 
And we desire no more. 



ANOTHER GRACE. 

Loud, we thank an' Thee adore, 
For temp'ral gifts we Httle merit; 

At present we will ask no more, — 
Let William Hyslop give the spirit I 



TO THE EDITOR OF "THE STAR." 

Dear Peter, dear Peter, 

We poor sons of metre 
Are aften negleckit, ye ken ; 

For instance, your sheet, man, 

(Though glad I 'm to see 't, man,) 
I get no ae day in ten. 

' These lines are ascribed to Bums, but bis brother Gilbert doubts their 
htvag written by him. 



TT 



- " J 

4d7 



TO DR. MAXWELL, 

ON MISS JESSY STAIG's RECOVEBT. 

Maxwell, if merit here you crave, 

That merit I deny : 
Yen save fair Jessy from the gravel 

Ad angel could not die. 



THE PIPER. 

[a fkagment.] 

There came a piper out o' Fife, 
I wat na what they ca'd him ; 

He played our cousin Kate a spring 
When fient a body bade him ; 

And aye the mair he hotched and blew 
The mair that she forbade him. 



JENNY M'CRAW. 

[a fragment.] 

Jenny M'Oraw, she has ta'en to the heather, — 
Say, was it the Covenant carried her thither? 
Jenny M'Craw to the mountains is gane. 
Their leagues and their covenants a' she has ta'en ; 
My head and my heart now, quo' she, are at rest. 
And as for the lave, let the de'il do his best. 



THE BOOK-WORMS.» 

Through and through the inspired leaves, 
Ye maggots, make your windings; 

But, oh ! respect his lordship's taste, 
And sjiare his golden bindings. 

' Writtjn in a splendiil library, where he found an uncut and ■worm 
eaten, but splendidly bound, copy of Shaksneare lying on the table. 






488 



THE SOLEMN LEAGUE AND COVENANT.' 

The Solemn League and Covenant 

Now brings a smile, now brings a tear; 

But sacred Freedom, too, was theirs ; 
If thou 'rt a slave, indulge thy sijeer. 



LINES WRITTEN AT LOUDON MANSE. 

The night was still, and o'er the hill 
The moon shone on the castle wa' ; 

The mavis sang, while dewdraps hang 
Around her, on the castle wa'. 

Sae merrily they danced the ring, 
Frae e'enin' till the cock did craw; 

And aye the o'erword o' the spring 
Was, Irvine's bairns are boijnie a*. 



THE TWO LAWYERS. 
[a sketch made in 1787.] 

lorc advocate.' 

He clenched his pamphlets in his fist^ 

n.e quoted and he hinted, 
Till in a declamation mist 

His argument he tint^ it; 
Ho gaped for't, he graped* for't. 

He found it was awa', man ; 
But what his common sense cam' short* 

He eked out wi' law, man. 

Collected Harry *• stood a wee. 

Then opened out his arm, man ; 
His lordship sat, wi' ruefu' e'e. 

And eyed the gath'ring stonn, man ; 
Like wind-driven hail, it did assail, 

Or torrents o'er a linn, man; 
The Bench sae wise, lift up their eyes, 

Half-wakened wi' the din, man. 

' Spoken in reply to a gentleman who sneered at the sufferings of the 
Covenant for conscience* sake. 

'•' Mr. Hay Campbell. * Lost. * Groped. 

* The celebrated Harry Erskine, Dean of Faculty. 



It 



J 



499 



TO A PAmTER, 

WROM. HE FOUND PAINTING A PICTURE OF JACOB's DREAM. 

Dear , I '11 gi'e ye some advice, 

You '11 tak' it no uncivil : 
You shouldna paint at angels mair. 

But try and paint the devil. 

To paint an angel 's kittle vrark, 
Wi' Auld Niok there 's less danger; 

You '11 easy draw a weel-kent face, 
But no sae weel a stranger. 



TO JOHN M'MURDO,' ESQ. 

O, COULD I give thee India's wealth 

As I this trifle send ! 
Because thy joy in both would be 

To share them with a friend. 

But golden sands did never grace 

The Heliconian stream ; 
Then take what gold can never buy- 

An honest Bard's esteem. 



TO THE SAME. 

Blest be M'Murdo to his latest day ! 
No envious cloud o'ercast his evening ray: 
No wrinkle furrowed by the hand of Care, 
Nor ever Sorrow add one silver hair ! 
O, may no son the father's honour stain, 
Nor ever daughter give the mother pain I 



ON A SHEEP'S HEAD. 

Uming at the Globe Tavern, Dumfries, when a sheep's head happened 
to be provided, Bums was asked to say grace, and instantly replied : — 

Lord ! when hunger pinches sore. 

Do Thou stand us in stead, 
And send us from Thy bounteous store 

A tup or wether head ! — Amen. 

John M'Murdo, steward to the Duke of Queensberry, was the faith- 
ful friend of Burns during the whole period of his residence in Niths- 
dale. 



= Ni 



500 TO A LADY. 

When dinner was over, he repeated the following lines: — 

LoRii ! since we have feasted thus, 
Which we so little merit, 

Let I\ieg now take away the flesh, 

And Jo' k bring in the spirit ! — Amen. 



TO A LADY,' 

WHO WAS LOOKING UP THE TEXT DURING SERMON. 

Faiji Maid, you need not take the hint, 

Nor idle texts pursue : 
'Twas guilty sinners that he meant — 

Not angels such as you ! 



ON THE ILLNESS OF A PAVOUEITE CHILD. 

Now health forsakes that angel face, 

Nae raair my dearie smiles ; 
Pale sickness withers ilka grace, 

And a' my hopes beguiles. 

The cruel Powers reject the prayer 

I hourly mak' for thee ! 
Ye heiivcns, how great is my despair I 

How can I see him die ! 



EPITAPH ON ROBERT FERGUSSON, POET. 
Born, September 6th, 1751 ; died, 16th October, 1774. 

No sculptured marble here, nor pompous lay, 
"No storied urn nor animated bust;" 

This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way 
To pour her sorrows o'er her Poet's dust. 

' Miss Ainslie. The text contained a heavy denunciation against im- 
penitent sinners. Boms took a slip of paper and wrote on it the above 
lines. 



501 



VERSES 

WRITTEN 'ONDEB, THE PORTRAIT OF FERGTJSSON, THE POET, IN A 
COPY OF THAT AUTHOR's WORKS PRESENTED TO A YOUNG LADY 
IN EDINBURGH, MARCH 17, 1787. 

Curse on ungrateful man ! that can be pleased, 

And yet can starve the author of the plea.sure ! 

O thou, my elder brother in misfortuue ! 

By far my elder brcither in the iMuses, 

With tears I pity thy unhappy fate ! 

Why is the bard unpitied by the world, 

Yet has SO keen a relish of its pleasures ? 



LINES WRITTEN ON A TUMBLER, 

You 're welcome, Willie Stewart ; 

You 're welcome, Willie Stewart ; 
There 's ne'er a flower that blooms in May, 

That 's half sae welcome 's thou art. 

Come, bumpers high, express your joy,— 

The bowl we maun renew it ; 
The tajjpit-hen, gae bring her ben, 

To welcome Willie Stewart. 

May foes be Strang, and friends be slack,— 

Ilk action may he rue it ; 
May woman on him turn her back. 

That wrangs thee, Willie Stewart ! 



EPITAPH ON WILLIAM NICOL. 

Yb maggots, feast on Nicol's brain, 
For few sic feasts ye 've gotten ; 

And fix your claws in Nicol's heart. 
For de'il a bit o't 's rotten. 



TO SOME Pi^OPLB WHO WERE BOASTING OF 
THEIR GRAND ACQUAINTANCES. 

No more of your titled acquaintances boast, 
And in what lordly circles you 've been; 

An insect is still but an insect at most. 
Though it crawl on th^ head of a queen ! 



603 

ELEGY OIT THE DEATH OF EOBEET RFISSEATIX 

[This fragment was found by Cromek among the Poet's manuscriptg. 
Rnisseaux is a translation into French of his own name— i.e., Burns, or 
rivulets.] 

ITow Robin lies in his last lair, 

He '11 gabble rhyme nor sing nae mair ; 

Cauld Poverty, wi' hungry stare, 

Nae mair shall fear him ; 
Nor anxious Fear, nor cankert Care, 

E'er mair come near liim, 

To tell the truth, they seldom fasht him, 
Except the moment that they crusht him : 
For sune as Chance or Fate had husht 'em. 

Though e'er sae short, 
Then wi' a rhyme or song he lasht 'em. 

And thought it sport. 

Though he was bred to kintra wark, 
And counted was baith wight and stark» 
Yet that was never Robin's mark 

To mak' a man ; 
Bat tell him he was learned and dark, 

He roosed him than ! 



LINES TO JOHN RANKINE. 

[Written by Burns on his death-bed, and sent to Adamhill aftei hia 
ieath.] 

He who of Rankine sang Ues stiff and dead. 
And a green grassy hillock haps his head; 
Alas 1 alas ! a devilish change indeed 1 



"~i ' — ^^^ nl 



REMARKS ON" 

S>mttm\j Bmxp antr ^allabs, 

ANCIENT AND MODERN; 
WITH ANECDOTES OF THEIR AUTHORS; 

BT 

EOBLUT BUENS. 



Tbere needs na' be so great a phrase, 
Wi' dringing dull Itnlian lays, 
I wad na gi'e our ain Strathspeys 

For half a hundred score o' 'em ; 
They 're douff and dowie at tlie best, 
Douff and dowie, douff and dowie, 
Tliey 're douff and dowie at the best, 

Wi' a' their variorum : 
They 're douffe and dowie at the best, 
Their Allegroes, and a' the rest : 
They cannot please a Scottish taste, 

Compared wi' Tullochgorum. 

Rev. John Skinnbs. 

[The Remarks on Scottish Songs were written by Bums in an 
interleaved co]iy of the first four volumes of Johnson's " Musical 
Museum," which he presented to Captain Riddel, of Friar's Carse. 
On the death of Mrs. Riddel, these volumes passed into the 
hands other niece, Eliza Bayley, of Manchester, who permitted 
Mr. Cromek to transcri'oe and publisli them in his volume of the 
ReUques of Bums. — Cunningham.] 



THE HIGHLAND QUEEN. 

The " Highland Queen," mroaic and poetry, was composed by 
Mr M'Vicar, purser of the Solebay man-of-war. This I had 
from Dr. Blacklock. 



604 



BESS THE OAWKIE. 



" The Highland King," intended as a parody on the former, was 
the production of a young lady, the friend of Charles Wilson, 
of Edinburgh, who edited a collection of songs entitled "Cecilia,'* 
which appeared in 1779. 

The following are specimens of these songs : — 

THE HIGHLAND QUEEN. 

How blest that youth whom gentle fate 
Has destined for so fair a mate ! 
Has all these wondering giits in store. 
And each returning day brings more; 
No youth so happy can be seen, 
Possessing thee, my Highland Queen. 



THE HIGHLAND KING. 

Jamie, the pride of a' the green, 
Is just my age, e'en gay fifteen: 
A'/hen first I saw him, 'twas the day 
That ushers in the sprightly May ; 
Then first I felt Love's powerful sting, 
And sighed for my dear Highland King. 



THE HIGHLAND QUEEN. 

No sordid wish, nor trifling joy, 
Her settled calm of mind destroy ; 
Strict honour fills her spotless soul. 
And adds a lustre to the whole : 
A niiitchless shape, a graceful mien, 
All centre in my Highland Queen. 



THE HIGHLAND KING. 

Would once the dearest boy but say, 
Tis you I love ; come, come away — 
Unto the kirk, my love, let 's hie — 
O, me ! in rapture, I 'd comply : 
And I should then have cause to sing 
The praises of my Highland King. 



BESS THE GAWKIB.' 

This song shows that the Scottish Muses did not all leave ns 
when we lost Ramsay and Oswald ; ' as I have good reason to 

' Written by the Rev. James Muirhead. 

•■ Oswald was a music-seller in London, where he puLlished a collection 
pf ^pttlob tunes, called "The Caledonian's Pocket Companion." 



J 



O, OPEN TEE DOOR, LORD QREOORT. 605 

believe that the verses and music are both posterior to the days 
of tliese two gentlemen. It is a beautiful song, and in the 
genuine Scots taste. We have few pastoral compositions — I 
mean the pastoral of Nature — that are equal to this. 

Blithe young Bess to Jean did say. 
Will ye gang to yon sunny brae, 
Where flocks do feed and herds do stray. 

And sport awhile wi' Jagiie ? 
Ah, na, lass, I '11 no gang there, 
Kor about Jamie tak' nae care, 
Nor about Jamie tak' nae care, 

For he 's ta'en up wi' Maggy ! 

For hark, and I will tell you, lass: 
Did I not see your Jamie pass, 
Wi' meikle gladness in his face, 

Out o'er the muir to Maggy ? 
I wat he ga'e her mony a kiss, 
And Maggy took them ne'er amiss ; 
'Tween ilka smack, pleased her with this,— 

That Bess was but a gawkie. 

But whisht ! — nae mair of this we 'U speak^ 
For yonder Jamie does us meet ; 
Instead of Meg he kissed sae sweet, 
I trow he likes the gawkie. 

dear Bess, I hardly knew. 

When I came by, your gown 's sae new* 

1 think you 've got it wet wi' dew ; 
Quoth she, That's hke a gawkie. ^ 

The lasses fast frae him they flew, 
And left poor Jamie sair to rue 
That ever Maggy's face he knew. 

Or yet ca'd Bess a gawkie. 
As they went o'er the muir they sang, 
• The hills and dales with echoes rang, 

The hills and dales with echoes rang, — ■ 
Gang o'er the muir to Maggy. 



0, OPEN THE DOOR, LORD GREGORY. 

It is somewhat singular that in Lanark, Renfrew, Ayr, 
Wigton, Kirkcudbright, and Dumfries-shires, there is scarcely 
d,n old song or tune which, from the title, &c , can be guessed 
to belong to, or be the pi'oduction of, thr'^e counties. This, I 
conjecture, is one of these very few ; as the l>allud, which is a 



600 THE BANKS OF THE TWEED 

long one, is called, both by tradition and in printed collections, 
" The Lass of Lochroyan," whicb I take to be Lociiroyan in 
Galloway. 

0, open the door. Lord Gregory, 

O, open and let me in ; 
The wind blows through my yellow hair, 

The dew draps o'er my chin. 
If you are the lass that \ loved once, 

As I trow you are not she, 
Come, gi'e me some of the tokens 
That passed 'tween you and me. 

Ah, wae be to you, Gregory ! 

An ill death may you die \ 
You will not be the death of one, 

But you '11 be the death of three. 
0, don't you mind, Lord Gregory, 

'Twas down at yonder burn-side 
We changed the ring off our lingers. 

And I put mine on thine ? 



THE BANKS OF THE TWEED. 

This song is one of the many attempts that English composers 
have made to imitate the Scottish manner, and which I shall, in 
these strictures, beg leave to distinguish by the appellation of 
" Anglo- Scottish" productions. The music is pretty good, but 
the verses are j^ust above contempt. 

For to visit my ewes, and to see my lambs play, 
By the banks of the Tweed and the groves I did stray ; 
But my Jenny, dear Jenny, how oft have I sighed. 
And have vowed endless love if you would be my bride. 

To the altar of Hymen, my fair one, repair. 

Where a knot of affection shall tie the fond pair. 

To the pipe's sprightly notes the gay dance will we lead. 

And will bless the dear grove by the banks of the Tweed. 



THE BEDS OF SWEET ROSES, 

This song, as far as I know, for the first time appears here in 
print. When I was a boy, it was a very popular song in Ayr- 
shire. I remember to have heard those fanatics, the Buchanites, 
sing some of their nonsensical rhymes, which they dignity with 
the name of hymns, to this air. 



ROSLIN CASTLE 607 

The song of " The Beds of Sweet Roses " is as follows : — 

As I was a-walking one nioming in May, 
The little birds were singing delightfnl and gay ; 
The little birds were singing delightful and gay, 
When I and my true love did often sport and play 

Down among the beds of sweet roses, 
Where I and my true love did often sport and play 

Down among the beds of sweet roses. 

My daddy and my mammy, I oft have heard them say, 
That I was a naughty boy, and did often sport and play; 
But I never liked in all my life a maiden that was shy, 
Down among the beds of sweet roses. 



ROSLIN CASTLE. 

These beautiful verses were the production of a Richard 
Hewit, a young man that Dr. Blacklock (to whom I am indebted 
for the anecdote) kept for some years as an amanuensis.' I do 
not know who is the author of the second song to the same tune. 
Tytler, in his amusing History of Scottish Music, gives the air 
to Oswald; but in Oswald's own collection of Scots tunes, when 
he atfixes an asterisk to those he himself composed, he does not 
make the least claim to the tune. 

'Twas in that season of the year, 
When all things gay and sweet appear. 
That Cohn, with the morning ray, 
Arose and sung his rural lay 
Of Nanny's charms the shej^herd sung, 
The hills and dales with Nanny rung; 
W^hile Roshn Uastle heard the swain, 
And echoed back the cheerful strain. 

' Richard Hewit was taken, when a boy, to lead Dr. Blacklock (who 
was blind). He addressed a copy of verses to the Doctor, on quitting his 
service. They contain the following lines :— 

" How oft these plains I 've thoughtless prest, 
"Whistled or sung some fair distrest, 
When fate would steal a tear." 

"Alluding to a sort of narrative songs, which make no inconsiderable 
part of the innocent amusements with which the country people pass the 
wintry nights, and of which the author of the present jiiece was a faithful 
rehearser." 

Mackenzie, in his edition of Blacklock's Poems (Edinburgh, 1793), 
informs us that Richard Hewit subsequently became secretary to Lord 
Milton (then Lonl .Ju.stice Clerk and Sub-.\!inister for Scotland, uiuler 
the I'uke of Argyll), but that the fatigue ci that employment hurt his 
health, and he died in 1794. 



608 EOSLIiY OASTLR 

Awalce, sweet Muse! the breathing Spring 
With rapture warms ; awake and sing 2 
Awake and join the vocal throng 
Who hail the morning with a song; 
To Nanny raise the cheerful lay, 
O, bid her taste and come away; 
In sweetest smiles herself adorn, 
And add new graces to the morn ! 

0. hark ! my love ; on every spray 
Each feathered warbler tunes his lay ; 
'Tis beauty fires the ravished throng. 
And love inspires the melting song: 
Then let my raptui-ed notes arise. 
For beauty darts from Nanny's eyes; 
And love my rising bosom warms, 
And fiUs my soul with sweet alarms. 



SECOND VEKSION. 

!From EosHn Castle's echoing walls, 
Resound my shepherd's ardent calls; 
My Colin bids me come away, 
And love demands I should obey. 
His melting strain and tuneful lay, 
So much the charms of love display, 
I yield — nor longer can refrain, 
To own my love, and bless my swain. 

No longer can my heart conceal 

The painful-pleasing flame T feel : 

My soul retorts the am'rous strain, ^ 

And echoes back in love again. 

Where lurks my songster ? from what grove 

Does Colin pour his notes of love ? 

O, bring me to the happy bower 

Where mutual love my bliss secure ! 

Ye vocal hills, that catch the song. 
Repeating as it flies along, 
To Colin's ears my strain convey, 
And say, I haste to come away. 
Ye zephyrs soft, that fan the gale. 
Waft to my love the soothing tale : 
In whispers all my soul express, 
And tell I haste his arms to bless ! 

O ! come, my love ! thy Colin's lay 

With rapture calls, O, come away! 

Come while the Muse this wreath shall twine 

Around that modest brow of thine ; 



n 



SAW YE JOHNNIE CUMMIN f QUO' SHE. 609 

O, hither haste, and with thee bring 
That beauty blooming like the Spring; 
Those graces that divinely shine, 
And charm this ravished breast of mine I 



SAW YE JOHNNIE CUMMIN? QUO' SHE. 

This song, for genuine humour in the verses, and lively origi' 
aahty in the air, is unparalleled. I take it to be very o:il 

Saw ye Johnnie cummin ? quo' she, 

Saw ye Johnnie cunnnin, 
O, saw ye Johnnie cummin ? quo' she; 

Saw ye Johnnie cummin, 
Wi' his blue bonnet on his head. 

And his doggie runnin', quo' she ; 

And his doggie runnin' ? 

Fee him, father, fee him, quo' shej 

Fee him, father, fee him : 
For he is a gallant lad, 

And a weel doin' ; 
And a' the wark about the house 

Gaes wi' me when I see him, quo' ehej, 

Wi' me when I see him. 

What wiU I do wi' him, hussy P 

What will I do wi' him ? 
He 's ne'er a sark upon his back, 

And I ha'e nane to gi'e him. 
I ha'e twa sarks into my kist. 

And ane o' them I 'U gi'e him, 
And for a mark of mair fee, 

Dinna stand wi' him, quo' she; 

Dinna stand wi' him. 

For weel do I lo'e him, quo' she : 

Weel do I lo'e him : 
O, fee him, father, fee him, quo' she: 

Fee him, father, fee him : 
He '11 baud the pleugh, thrash i' the barn, 

And lie wi' me at e'en, quo' she ; 

Lie wi' me at e'en. 



CLOUT THE CALDRON. 

A TRADITION is mentioned in the Bee, that the second Bishop 
Chisholm, of Dunblane, used to say that, if te were going to 



m 



610 CLOUT THE CALDRON. 

be hanged, nothing would soothe his mind so much by the way 
as to heai' " Clout the Caldron " played. 

I have met with another tradition, that the whole song to this 
tune, — 

" Ha'e ye ony pots or pans, 
Or ony broken chanlers ?" 

was composed on one of the Ken mure family, in the Cavalier 
times ; and alluded to an amour he had, while under hiding, in 
the disguise of an itinerant tinker. The air is also known by 
the name of 

" The blacksmith and his apron," 

which, from the rhythm, seems to have been a line of some old 
long ix> the tune. 

Ha'e ye ony pots or pans. 

Or ony broken chanlers ? 
For I 'm a tinker to my trade, 

And newly come frae Flanders, 
As scant o' siller as o' grace, 

Disbanded, we 've a bad run ; 
Gang, tell the lady o' the place 

I 'm come to clout her caldron. 

Madam, if ye ha'e wark for me, 

I '11 do 't to your contentment, 
And dinna care a single flie 

For ony man's resentment : 
For, lady fair, though I appear 

To every ane a tinker, 
Tet to yoursel" 1 'm bauld to teU 

I am a gentle jinker. 

Love, Jupiter into a swan 

Turned for his lovely Leda ; 
He, like a bull, o'er meadows ran 

To carry off Europa. 
Then may not I, as well as he, 

To cheat your Argus blinker. 
And win your love, like mighty Jove^ 

Thus hide me in a tinker .P 

" Sir, ye appear a cunning man, 

But this fine plot ye '11 I'uil in, 
For there is neither pot nor pan 

Of mine ye '11 drive a naU in. 
Then bind your budget on your hack 

And nails up in your apron. 
For 1 've a tinker under tack 

That 's used to clout mj oaldron." 



Q 



L, 



J 



611 



SAW YE NAE MY PEGGY P 

This charming song is much older, and indeed superior to 
Ramsay's verses, " The Toast," as he calls them. There is 
another set of the words, much older still, and which I take to 
be the original one, but though it has a very great deal of merit, 
it is not quite ladies' reading. 

The original words, for they can scarcely be called verses, seem 
to be as follows — a song famiUar from the cradle to every Scot« 
tish ear : — 

Saw ye my Maggie, 

Saw ye my Maggie, 

Saw ye my Maggie 

Linkin' o'er the lea P 

High kilted was she. 
High kilted was she. 
High kilted was she, 
Her coat aboon her knee. 

What mark has your Maggie^ 
What mark has your Maggie, 
What mark has your Maggie, 
That ane may ken her be ? (by). 

Though it by no means follows that the silliest verses to aa 
air must, for that reason, be the original song, yet I take this 
ballad, of which I have quoted part, to be the old verses. The 
two songs in Ramsay, one of them evidently his own, are never 
to be met with in the fireside circle of our peasantry ; while that 
which I take to be the old song is in every shepherd's mouth. 
Eiimsay, I suppose, had thought the -Ad verses unworthy of a 
place in his collection. 

Saw ye nae my Peggy, 
Saw ye nae my Peggy, 
Saw ye nae my Peggie 

Ooming o'er the lea ? 
Sure a finer creature 
Ne'er was formed by iN'ature, 
So complete each feature. 

So divine is she. 

0, how Peggy charms me ! 
Every look still warms me! 
Every thought alarms me, 

Lest she love nae me. 
Pegcry doth discover 
Naught but chai-ms all oveii 
Nature bids me love h.er, — 
That 's a law to me. 



t 



612 THE FLOWERS OP EDINBUROE. 

Who would leave a lover 
To become a rover ? 
No, I '11 ne'er give over. 

Till I happy be ! 
For since love inspires me. 
As her beauty fires me, 
And her absence tires me, 

Nought can please but sho. 

When I hope to gain her, 
Fate seems to detain her: 
Could I but obtain her, 

Happy would I be ! 
I '11 lie down before her. 
Bless, sigh, and adore her. 
With faint look implore her. 

Till she pity me! 



THE FLOWERS OF EDINBUEGH. 

This song is one of the many effusions of Scots Jacobitism. 
The title, " Flowers of Edinburgh," has no manner of connectiou 
with the present verses, so I suspect there has been an older 
set of words, of which the title is all that remrvins. 

By the by, it is singular enough that the Scottish Musea 
were all Jacobites I have paid more attention to every descrip- 
tion of Scots songs than perhaps anybody Hving has done, and 
I do not recollect one single stanza, or even the title of the 
most trifling Scots air, which has the least panegyrical reference 
to the families of Nassau or Brunswick; while there are hun 
dreds satirizing them. This may be thought no panegyric oa 
the Scots poets, but I mean it as such. For myself, I would 
always take it as a compliment to have it said that my heart 
ran before my head; and surely the gallant though unfortunate 
House of Stuart, the kings of our fathers for so many heroic 
ages, is a theme much more interesting than .* 

My love was once a bonnie lad ; 

He was the flower of a' his kin ; 
The absence of his bonnie face 

Has rent my tender heart in twain. 
I day nor night find no deUght — 

In silent tears I still complain ; 
And exclaim 'gainst those, my rival foes, 

That ha'e ta'en frae me my darling swaua. 

A pen has been passed through the close of this sentence. 



J 



MY DEAR JOCKEY. 513 

Despair aud anguish fill my breast 

Since I have lost my blooming rose: 
I sigh and moan while others rewt; 

His absence yields me no re;'Ose. 
To seek my love I '11 range and rove 

Through every grove and distant plain; 
Thus I '11 never cease, but spend my days 

T' hear tidings from my darling swain. 

There 'e nothing strange in Nature's change, 

Since parents show such cruelty ; 
They caused my love from me to range, 

And know not to what destiny. 
The pretty kids aud tender lambs 

May cease to sport ujjon the plain ; 
Hat I '11 mourn and lament, in deep discontent, 

For the absence of my darling swain ! 



JAMIE GAY. 
** Jamie Gat " is another and a tolerable Anglo-Scottish piece. 

MY DEAR JOCKEY. 

Another Anglo- Scottish production. 

My laddie is gane far away o'er the plain, 
While in sorrow behind I am forced to remain ; 
Though blue-bells and violets the hedges adorn, 
Though trees are in blossom and sweet blows the thom. 
No pleasure they give me, in vain they look gay ; 
There 's nothing can please me now Jockey 's away ; 
Forlorn I sit singing, and this is my strain, — 
" Haste, haste, my dear Jockey, to me back again." 

When lads and their lasses are on the green met, 

They dance and they sing, and they laugh and they chat ; 

Contented and happy, with hearts full of glee, 

I can't without envy their merriment see: 

Tho-e pleasures offend me, my shepherd 's not there I 

No pleasure I relish tha.t Jockey don't share ; 

It makes me to sigh, I from tears scarce refrairi, 

I wish my dear Jockey returned back again. 

L I. 



614 



FYE, GAE EUB HER. O'EE WI' STRAE. 

It is self-evident that the first four lines of this song are part 
of a song more ancient than Ramsay's beautiful verses which 
are annexed to them. As music is the language of Nature, 
and poetry, particularly songs, ai*e always less or more localized 
(if I may be allowed the verb) by some of the modifications of 
time and place, this is the reason why so many of our Scottish 
airs have outlived their original, and perhaps many subsequent 
sets of verses ; except a single name, or phrase, or sometimes 
one or two lines, simply to distinguish the tunes by. 

To this day, among people who know nothing of Ramsay's 
verses, the following is the song, and all the song that ever T 
heard : — 

Gin ye meet a bonnie lassie, 

Gi'e her a kiss and let her gae ; 
But gin ye meet a dirty hizzie, 
Pye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae. 

Fye, gae rub her, rub her, rub her, 

Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae; 
And gin ye meet a dirty hizzie, 

Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae. 

*' Ramsay's spirited imitation," says Cromek, " of the Vides, ut 
alta stet nive candidum Soracte, of Horace, is considered as one 
of the hai)piest efforts of the author's genius." For a critique 
on the poem the reader is referred to Lord Woodhou6>^lee'8 
** Remarks on the Writings of Ramsay." 

Look up to Pentland's tow'ring tap, 
Buried beneath great wreaths of snaw, 

O'er ilka cleugh, ilk scar, and slap, 
As high as ony Roman wa'. 

Driving their baws frae whins or tee, 
There are nae gowfers to be seen; 

Nor dousser fowk wysing a-jee 

The byass-bouls on Tamson's Green. 

Then fling on coals, and ripe the ribs. 
And beek the house baith but and '.)en; 

That mutchkin stoup it hands but dribs, 
Then let 's get in the tappit-hen. 

Good claret best keeps out the cauld. 
And drives away the winter soon ; 

It makes a man baith gash and bauld. 
And heaves his soul beyond the moon. 



I J ' ^ ■ ^~~t 



THE LASS OF LIVINGSTON 615 

Let next day come as it thinks fit, 

The present mintite "s only ours ; 
On Pleasure let's employ our wit, 

And laugh at Fortune's fickle powers. 

Be sure ye dinna quit the grip 

Of ilka joy, when ye are young, 
Before auld age your vitals nip, 

And lay ye twafald o'er a rung. 

Now to her heaving bosom cHng, 

And sweetly tastie for a kiss ; 
Frae her fair finger whoop a ring, 

As token of a future bliss. 

These benisons, I 'm very sure, 
Are of the gods' indulgent grant; 

Then, surly carles, whisht, forliear 
To plague us wi' your whining cant. 

Sweet youth 's a blithe and heartsome time ; 
Then, lads and lasses, while 'tis May, 
' Gae, pu' the gowan in its prime, 

Betbre it wither and decay. 

Watch the saft minutes of delight. 

When Jenny speaks beneath her breatli. 

And kisses, laying a' the wyte 
On you, if she kepp ony skaith. 

" Haith, ye 're ill-bred," she '11 smiling say ; 

" Ye '11 worry me, ye greedy rook ;" 
Sjme frae your arms she '11 riu away, 

And hide hersel' in some dark nook. 

Her laugh will lead you to the place 
Where lies the happiness you want, 

And plainly tells you, to your face. 
Nineteen nay- says are half a grant. 

The song of " Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae" is composed of 
the first four lines mentioned by Burns, and the seven concluding 
verses of Eamsay's spirited and elegant Scottish version of 
Horace's ninth Ode, given above. — Cunningham. 



THE LASS OF LIVINGSTON. 

The old song, in three eight-line stanzas, is well known, and 
has merit as to wit and humour ; but it is ratlier unfit for 
insertion. It begins, — 



J 



\L',^ 



516 THE LASS OF LlVJyOSTON. 

The boimie lass o' Livingston, 

Her name ye ken, her name ye ken, 

And she has written in her contract, 
To lie her lane, to lie her lane. 
&c. &c. &c. 

The version by Allan Ramsay is as follows : — 

Pained with her slighting Jamie's love, 

Bell dropt a tear. Bell dropt a tear ; 
The gods descended from above. 

Well pleased to hear, well pleased to hear. 
They heard the praises of the youth 

From her own tongue, from her own tongafl^ 
yfho now converted was to truth. 

And thus she sung, and thus she sung : 

Blessed days, when our ingenuous sex, 

More frank and kind, more frank and kind. 
Did not their loved adorers vex, 

But spoke their mind, but spoke their mind. 
Repenting now, she promised fair, 

Would he return, would he return, 
She ne'er again would give him care. 

Or cause to mourn, or cause to mourn. 

Why loved I the deserving swain, 

Yet still thought shame, yet still thought shamOj 
When he my yielding heart did gain. 

To own my flame, to own my flame ? 
Why took I pleasure to torment. 

And seem too coy, and seem too coy, 
Which makes me now, alas I lament 

My slighted joy, my slighted joy ? 

Ye Fair, while beauty 's in its spring. 

Own your desire, own your desire, 
\VTiile Love's young power, with his soft wing. 

Fans up the fire, fans up the fire ; 
0, do not, with a silly pride 

Or low design, or low design, 
R(^fuse to be a happy bride. 

But answer plain, but answer plain. 

Thus the fair mourner 'wailed her crime, 

With flowing eyes, with flowing eyes; 
Glad Jamie heard her all the time 

With sweet surprise, with sweet surprise. 
Sone god had led him to the grove, 

J lis mind unchanged, his mind unchanged; 
Flew to her arms, and cried, Mv love, 

I am revenged, I am revenged. 



617 



THE LAST TIME I CAME O'ER THE MOOR. 

Ramsay found the first line of this song, which had been pre- 
served as the title of the charming air, and then composed the 
rest of the verses to suit that line. This has alwaj's a liiior 
effect than composing English words, or words with an idea 
foreign to the spirit of the old title. Where old titles of songs 
convey any idea at all, it wDl generally be found to be auite in 
Uie spirit of the air. 

The last time I came o'er the moor, 

I left my love behind me ; 
Ye powers ! what pain do I endure. 

When soft ideas mind me. 
Soon as the ruddy mom displayed 

The beaming day ensuing, 
I met betimes my lovely maid 

In fit retreats for wooing. 

Beneath the cooling shade we lay, 

Gazing and chastely sporting ; 
We kissed and promised time away, 

Till Night spread her black curtain. 
I pitied all beneath the skies, 

Ev'n kings, when she was nigh me ; 
In rapture I beheld her eyes, 

Which could but ill deny me. 

Should I be called where cannons roar, 

Where mortal steel may wound me ; 
Or cast upon some foreign shore, 

Where danger may surround me ; 
Yet hopes again to see my love. 

And feiist on glowing kisses, 
Shall make my cares at distance move, 

In prospect of such bhsses. 

In all my soul there 's not one place 

To let a rival enter; 
Since she excels in every gi-ace, 

In her my love shall centre : 
Sooner the seas shall cease to flow, 

Their waves the Alps shall cover. 
On Greenland ice shall roses grow, 

Before I cease to love her. 

The nest time I go o'er the moor. 

She shall a lover find me; 
A.nd that my faith is tinn and pure, 

Though I left her behind me : 



L-i] 



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518 JOHNNIE'S ORET BREEKS. 

Then Hymen's sacred bonds shall chain 
^ly heart to her fair bosom ; 

There, while my being does remain. 
My love more fresh shall blossom. 



JOHNNIE'S GREY BREEKS. 

Though this has certainly eveiy evidence of being a Scottish 
air, yet there is a well-known tune and song in the North oi 
Ireland, called " The Weaver and his Shuttle, 0," which, though 
Bung much quicker, is every note the very tune. 

When I was in my se'enteenth year, 

I was baith blithe and bonnie, O ; 
The lads lo'ed me baith far and near. 

But I lo'ed nane but Johnnie, 0. 
He gained my heart in twa three weeks. 

He spak' sae blithe and kindly, O ; 
And I made him new grey breeks, 

That fitted him maist finely, 0. 

He was a handsome fellow ; 

His humour was baith frank and free; 
His bonny locks sae yellow, 

Like gowd they glittered in my e'e; 
His dimpled chin and rosy cheeks, 

And face sae fair and ruddy, O ; 
And then a-day his grey breeks 

Were neither auld nor duddy, O. 

But now they are threadbare worn, 

They 're wider than they wont to be; 
They 're a' tashed-like, and unco torn. 

And clouted sair on ilka knee. 
But gin I had a simmer's day. 

As I ha'e had right mony, 0, 
I 'd make a web o' new grey, 

To be breeks to my Johnnie, O. 

For he 's weel worthy o' them, 

And better than I ha'e to gi'e ; 
But I '11 take pains upo' them, 

And strive frae fau'ts to keep them free. 
To deed him weel shall be my care, 

A nd please him a' my study, ; 
But he maun wear the auld pair 

A wee, though they be duddy, 0. 



619 

THE HAPPY MARRIAGE.' 

Another, but very pretty, Anglo- Scottish piece. 

ITow blest has my time been, what joys have I known. 
Since wedlock's soft bondage made Jessie my own ! 
So joyful my heart is, so easy my chain, 
That freedom is tasteless, and roving a pain. 

Through walks grown with woodbines, as often we stray^ 
Around us our boys and girls frolic and play : 
Pow pleasing their sport is the wanton ones see, 
And borrow their looks from my Jessie and me. 

To try ber sweet temper, oft-times am 1 seen. 
In revels all day with the nymphs on the green ; 
Though painful my absence, my doubts she beguiles, 
And meets me at night with complaisance and smiles. 

What though on her cheeks the rose loses its hue, 
Her wit and her humour bloom all the year through : 
Time still, as he flies, adds increase to her truth, 
And gives to her mind what he steals from her youth 

Ye shepherds so gay, who make love to ensnare, 
And cheat with fulse vows the too credulous fair, 
In search of true pleasure how vainly you roam ; 
To hold it for hfe, you must find it at home. 



THE LASS OF PATIE'S MILL. 

In Sinclair's " Statistical Account of Scotland," this song is 
localized (a verb I must use for want of another to express 
my idep) somewhere in the North of Scotland, and likewise is 
claimed by Ayrshire. The following anecdote I had from the 
present Sir William Cunningham, of Robertland, who had it 
from the last John, Earl of Loudon. The then Earl of Loudou, 
and father to Earl John before mentioned, had Ramsay at 
Loudon, and one day walking together by the banks of Irvine 
"Water, near New Mills, at a place called Patie's Mill, they were 
struck with the appearance of a beautiful country girl. His 
lordship obsei-ved that she would be a tine theme for a song. 
Allan lagged behind in returning to Loudon Castle, and at 
dinner produced this identical song. 

' Composed by Edward Moore, author of "Fables for the Female 
Sex." 



C20 TEE TURNIMSPIKE, 

The Lass of Patie's Mill, 

So bonnie, blithe, and gay. 
In spite of all my skill, 

Hath stole my heart away. 
When tedding of the hay, 

Bare-headed on the green. 
Love midst her locks did play. 

And wantoned in her een. 

Her arms white, round, and smooth. 

Breasts rising in their dawn, 
To Age it would give youth 

To press them with his hand : 
Through all my spirits ran 

An ecstasy of bHss, 
When I such sweetness fand. 

Wrapt in a balmy kiss. 

Without the help of art, 

Like flowers which grace the wHdf 
She did her sweets impart 

Whene'er she spoke or smiled. 
Her looks they were so mild. 

Free from affected pride. 
She me to love beguiled : 

I wished her for my bride. 

O ! had I all that wealth 

Hopetoun's high mountains fill, 
Insured long life and health, 

And pleasure at my will, 
I 'd promise and fulfil 

That none but bonnie she, 
. The Lass o' Patie's Mill, 

Should share the same wi' me. 

The heroine of this song was the only daughter of John 
Anderson, Esq., of Patie's Mill, in the parish of Keith-Hall, 
and county of Aberdeen. 



THE TUEmM SPIKE.' 

There is a stanza of this excellent song for local humour, 

omitted in this set. 

' Bums says nothing about the authorship of this himorons song, buli 
we may mention that it, and its counterpart, "John Hielandman's Re- 
marks on Glasgow," are fiom the pen of Dougald Graliam, bellman v in 



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Ol 



THE TtJRNIMSPIKE. > 521 

They tak' te horse then by te head, 
And tare tey mak' her stan', man ; 

Me tell tern, me ha'e seen te day 
Tey no had sic comman', man. 

A Highlander laments, in a half-serious and half-comic way, 
the privations which the Act of Parliament anent kilts has made 
him endure, and the miseries which turnpike-roads and toll-bars 
have brought upon his country : — 

Hersell pe Highland shentleman, 

Pe auld as Pothwell Prig, man ; 
And mony alterations seen 

Amang te Lawland whig, man. 

First when her to the Lawlands came, 
Nainsell was driving cows, man ; 

There was nae laws about him's nerse, 
About the preeks or trews, man. 

Nainsell did wear the philabeg. 
The plaid prick't on her shoulder. 

The guid claymore hung pe her pelt, 
De pistol sharged wi' ponder. 

But for whereas these cursed preeks, 

Wherewith her nerse be lockit, 
0-hon ! that e'er she saw the day ! 

For a' her houghs be prokit. 

Glasgow, and author of the facetious histories of "Lothian Tani," " Lepei 
the Tailor," "Simple JLohn and his Twelve Misfortunes," "Jocky and 
Maggie's Courtship," " John Cheap the Chapman," "The Comical Pay- 
ings of Padtly from Cork with his Coat Buttoned Behind," ".John Fal- 
kirk's Carritches," "Janet Clinker's Orations in the Society of Clashin' 
Wives," and a "Metrical History of the Rebellion in 1745," in which he 
had a personal share, &c. His works, in the form of penny histories, 
have long formed staple articles in the hawker's basket ; and while the 
classic presses of Paisley, Stirling, and Falkirk have groaned with them, 
the sides of the Scottish lieges have been convulsed with them for the 
greater part of a centui-y. — Motherwell. 

Graham was born about 1724, and died in the year 1779. His " His- 
toiy of the Rebellion, 1745," was a favourite work of Sir Walter Scott, 
and was first printed under the following quaint title : — 

" A Full, Particular, and True Account of the Rebellion in 1745-6. 

" Composed by the Poet, D. Graham. 

" In Stirlingshire he lives at hame. 

" To the tune of 'The Gallant Grahams,' &c. Glasgow, 1746." 



p ^ 



622 HIGHLAND LADDIE. 

Every ting in de Highlands now 

Pe turned to alteration ; 
The codger dwall at our door-sheet 

And tat's te great vexation. 

Scotland be turn't a Ningland now. 
An' laws pri ng on de cadger; 

Nainsell wad durk him for his deeds» 
But oh ! she fear te sodger. 

Anither law came after that, 
]\[e never saw te like, man ; 

They mak' a lang road on te crund, 
And ca' him Turnimspike, man. 

An' wow ! she pe a pouny road, 
liike louden corn-rigs, man ; 

Where twa carts may gang on her, 
An' no preak ither's legs, man. 

They sharge a penny for ilka horse, 
In troth she '11 no be sheaper. 

For nought put gaen upo' the ground. 
An' they gi'e me a paper 

ITae doubts, himsell maun tra her purser 
And pay them what hims like, man ; 

I '11 see a shugement on his toor. 
That filthy Turnimspike, man. 

But I '11 awa' to te Highland hills. 
Where te'il a ane dare turn her, 

And no come near your Turnimspike, 
Unless it pe to purn her. 



HIGHLAND LADDIE. 

As this was a favourite theme with our later Scottish muses, 
there are several airs and songs of that name. That which I 
take to be the oldest is to be found in the " Musical Museum," 
beginning, "I ha'e been at Crookieden." One reason for my 
thinking so is, that Oswald had it in his collection by the name 
of " The auld Highland Laddie." It is also known by the name 
of " Jinglan Johnnie," which is a well-known song of four or five 
stanzas, and seems to be an earlier song than Jacobite times. 
As a proof of this, it is little known to the peasantry by the 
name of " Highland Laddie," while everybody knows " Jinglan 
Johnnie." The song begins, — 



THE OENTLE SWAIN. 523 

** Jinglan John, the meickle man, 

He met wi' a lass was blithe and bonnie." 

Another'' Highland Laddie " is also in the " Museum/' Vol. v., 
which I take to be Ea in gay's original, as he has borrowed the 
choi-us, " 0, my bonnie Highland lad," &c. It consists of three 
stanzas, besides the chorus ; and has humour in its composition. 
It is an excellent but somewhat licentious song. It begins, — 

As I cam' o'er Cairney-Mount, 

And down amang the blooming heather. 

Kindly stood the milking- shiel, 
To shelter frae the stormy weather. 

O, my bonnie Highland lad, 

My winsome, weel-fared Highland laddie! 
Wha wad mind the wind and rain, 

Sae weel rowed in his tartan plaidie ? 

Now Phoebus blinkit on the bent, 

And o'er the knowes the lambs were bleating; 

But he wan my heart's consent 
To be his ain at the neist meeting. 

O, my bonnie Highland lad, 

My winsome, weel-fared Highland laddie ! 
Wha wad mind the wind and rain, 

Sae weel rowed in his tartan plaidie P 

This air, and the common " Highland Laddie," seem only to 
be different sets. 

Another " Highland Laddie," also in the " Museum," Vol. v., 
is the tune of several Jacobite fragments. One of these old 
songs to it only exists, as far as I know, in these four lines : — 

Whare ha'e ye been a' day, 

Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie ? 

Down the back o' Bell's brae, 

Courtin' Maggie, courtin' Maggie." 

Another of this name is Dr. Ame's beautiful air, called the new 
" Highland Laddia" 



THE GENTLE SWAIN. 

To sing such a beautiful air to such execrable verses is down 
right prostitntion of common sense ! The Scots verses, indeed, 
are tolerable- 



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£24 hi: stole my tender heart aw at, 

SCOTTISH VEKSION. 

Jeanny's heart was frank and free, 

And wooers she had mony yet ; 
Her sang was aye, I fa' I see, 

Commend me to my Johnnie yet. 
For air and late, he has sic a gate 

To mak' a body cheery, that 
I wish to be, before I die, 

His ain kind dearie yet. 



HE STOLE MY TENDER HEAET AWAY. 

Tuis is an Anglo- Scottish production, but by no means a bad 
one. The following is a specimen : — 

" The fields were green, the hills were gay, 
And birds were singing on each spray, 
When Colin met me in the gi'ove. 
And told me tender tales of love. 
Was ever swain so blithe as he. 
So kind, so faithful, and so free? 
In spite of all my friends could say. 
Young Colin stole my heart away." 



FAIREST OF THE FAIR. 

It is too barefaced to take Dr. Percy's charming song, and, 
by means of transposing a few English words into Scots, to 
offer to pass it for a Scots song. I was not acquainted with 
the editor until the first volume was nearly finished, else, had I 
known in time, I would have prevented such an impudent 
absurdity. 

DR. Percy's soxg. 

O Nancy ! wilt thou go with me, 

Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town ? 
Can silent glens have charms for thee. 

The lowly cot and russet gown ? 
No longer drest in silken sheen. 

No longer decked with jewels rare, 
Say, canst thou quit each courtly scene. 

Where thou wert fairest of the fair ? 

O Nancy ! when thou 'rt far away. 
Wilt thou not cast a wish behind \ 



rt 



THE BLAITHRIE O'T. 625 

Say, canst thou face the parching ray. 
Nor shrink before the wintry wind ? 

O, can that soft and gentle mien 
Extremes of hardship learn to bear ; 

Nor, sad, regret each courtly scene, 
Where thou wert fairest of the fair P 

O Nancy ! canst thou love so true, 

Through perils keen with me to go, 
Or, when thy swain mishap shall rue, 

To share with him the pang of woe ? 
Say, should disease or pain befall. 

Wilt thou assume the nurse's care, 
Nor, wistful, those gay scenes recall 

Where thou wert fairest of the fair ? 

And when at last thy love shall die, 

Wilt thou receive his parting breath ? 
Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh, 

And cheer with smiles the bed of death P 
And wilt thou o'er his breathless clay 

Strew flowers, and drop the tender tear, 
Nor then regret those scenes so gay 

Where thou wei-t fairest of the fair ? 

"This," writes Burns, " is perhaps the most beautiful ballad 
ia the English language." 



THE BLAITHRIE O'T. 

The following is a set of this song, which was the earliest song 
I remember to have got by heart. When a child, an old woman 
sang it to me, and I picked it up, every word, at first hearing : — 

Willy ! weel I mind I lent you my hand 

To sing you a song which you did me command ; 
But my memory's so bad, I had almost foi-got 
That you called it " The gear and the blaithrie o't." 

1 '11 not sing about confusion, delusion, nor pride, 
I '11 sing about a laddie was for a virtuous bride ; 
For virtue is an ornament that time will never rot. 
And preferable to gear and the blaithrie o't. 

Though my lassie ha'e nae scarlets nor silks to put on. 
We envy not the greatest that sits upon the throne ; 
I wad rather ha'e my lassie, though she cam' in her smock, 
Than a princess wi' the gear and the blaithrie o't. 



a 



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52<) MAT EVE; OR RATE OF ABERDEEN: 

Though we ha'e nae horses nor menzie ' at command. 
We will toil on our foot, and we '11 work wi' our hand ; 
And when wearied without rest, we'll find it sweet in any spot, 
And we '11 value not the gear and the blaithrie o't. 

If we ha'e ony babies, we '11 count them as lent ; 

Ha'e we less, ha'e we mair, we will aye be content ; 

For they say they ha'e mair pleasure that wins but a groat 

Than the miser wi' his gear and the blaithrie o't. 

I '11 not meddle wi' the affairs o' the Kirk or the Queen ; 
They're nae matters for a sang, let them sink, let them swim ; 
On your Kirk I'll ne'er encroach, but I '11 hold it still remote; 
Sae tak' this for the gear and the blaithrie o't. 



MAY EVE; OR, KATE OF ABERDEEN. 

" Kate of Aberdeen " is, I believe, the work of poor Cunning- 
ham, the player ; of whom the following anecdote, though told 
before, deserves a recital. A fat dignitary of the Church com- 
ing past Cunningham one Sunday, as the poor poet was busy 
plying a fishing-rod in some stream near Durham, his native 
county, his reverence reprimanded Cunningham very severely 
for such an occupation on such a day. The poor poet, with that 
inoffensive gentleness of manners which was his peculiar 
characteristic, replied, that he hoped God and his reverence 
would forgive his seeming profanity of that sacred day, " as he 
had no dinner to eat but what lay at the bottom of that pool 1 " 
This Mr. Woods, the player, who knew Cunningham well, and 
esteemed him much, assured me was true. 

The silver moon's enamoured beam 

Steals softly through the night, 
To wanton with the winding stream. 

And kiss reflected light. 
To beds of state go, balmy Sleep, 

Where you 've so seldom been, 
Whilst I May's wakeful vigils keep 

With Kate of Aberdeen ! 

The nymphs and swains, expectant, wait, 

In primrose chaplets gay, 
Till Morn unbars her golden gate. 

And gives the promised May. 

• detinue. 



TWEED-SIDE. 627 

The nymphs and swains shall all declare 

The promised May, '.vhen seen, 
Not half so fragrant, half so fair, 

As Kate of Aberdeen ! 

I'll tune my pi^je to playful notes, 

And rouse yon nodding grove; 
Till new-waked birds distend their throatS» 

And hail the maid 1 love. 
At her approach the lark mistakes, 

And quits the new-dressed green : 
Fond bird ! 'tis not the morning breaks, 

'Tis Kate of Aberdeen ! 

Now blithesome o'er the dewy mead. 

Where elves disportive play ; 
The festal dance young shepherds lead. 

Or sing their love-tuned lay. 
Till May, in morning robe, draws nigh, ■ 

And claims a Virgin Queen ; 
The nymphs and swains, exulting, cry. 

Here 's Kate of Aberdeen ! ' 



TWEED-SIDE. 

In Bamsay's " Tea-table Miscellany," he tells us, that about 
thirty of the songs in that publication were the works of some 
young gentlemen of his acquaintance ; which songs are marked 
with the letters D., C, &c. Old Mr. Tytler, of Woodhouselee, the 
■worthy and able defender of the beauteous Queen of Scots, told 
me that the songs marked C. in the " Tea-table " were the com- 
position of a Mr. Crawford, of the house of Achnames, who was 
afterwards unfortunately drowned coming from France. Ad 
Tj'tler was most intimately acquainted with Allan Ramsay, I 
think the anecdote may be depended on. Of consequence, the 
beautiful song of "Tweed-Side" is Mr. Crawford's, apd indeed 
does great honour to his poetical talents. He was Eobert 
Crawford ; the Mary he celebrates was a Mary Stewart, of the 
Castle-Milk family,' afterwards married to a Mr. John Ritchie. 

' In a copy of Cromek's "Reliquesof Burns," there is the following 
note on this passage, in Sir Walter Swtt'.s handwriting : — "Miss Mary 
Lilias Scott was the eldest daughter of John Scott, of Harden, and well 
known, in the fashionable world, by the nickname of Cadie Scott — I be- 
lieve because she went to a masked ball in such a disguise. I remember 
her, an old lady, distinguished for elegant ma:iiners and high spirit, 
though struggling under the disadvantages of a narrow income, as lier 
father's estate, being entailed on heira male, went to another branc* j1 



7 ^ 



528 TWEED SIDB. 

I have seen a song, calling itself the original "Tweed- Side," 
and said to have been composed by a Lord Tester. It consisted 
of two stanzas, of which I still recollect the first : — 

When Maggie and I was acquaint, 

I carried my noddle fu' high ; 
Nae lintwhite on a' the green plain, 

Nor gowdspink sae happy as me : 
But I saw her sae fair, and I lo'ed ; 

I wooed, but I cam' nae great speed ; 
So now I maun wander abroad, 

And lay my banes far frae the Tweed.* 



Crawford's Song. 

What beauties doth Flora disclose ! 

How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed I 
Yet Mary's, still sweeter than those, 

Botli Nature and fancy exceed. 
Nor daisy, nor sweet blushing rose, 

Nor all the gay flowers of the field, 
Nor Tweed gliding gently through those, 

Such beauty and pleasure do yield. 

The warblers are heard in the grove, 

The linnet, the lark, and the thrush. 
The blackbird, and sweet-cooing dove, 

With music enchant every bush. 
Come, let us go forth to the mead. 

Let us see how the primroses spring ; 
We 11 lodge in some village on Tweed, 

And love while the feathered folks sing. 

the Harden family, then called the High Chester family. ' I have heard 
an Inindied times, from those who lived at the period, that 'Tweed-Side,' 
and the song called ' Mary Scott, the Flower of Yarrow,' were both written 
upon this much-admired lady, and could add much proof on the subject, 
did space permit." 

' The following is the other stanza : — 

To Maggie my love I did tell, — 

Saut tears did my passion express ; 
Alas! for I lo'ed her o'er well, 

And the women lo'e sic a man less. 
Her heart it was frozen and cauld. 

Her pride had my ruin decreed ; 
Therefore I will wander abroad. 

And lay my banes far frae the Tweed. 

John, Lord Tester, second Mai-quis of Tweeddale, died in 1713. He 
was a man of considerable poetic talent 



c 



nt 



THE POSIE. 629 

TTow does my love pass the long day P 

Does Mary not tend a few sheep ? 
Do they never careles.'^ly stray 

While happily she lies asleep ? 
Tweed's murmurs should lull her to rest, 

Kind Nature indulging my bHss — 
To ease the soft pains of my breast, 

I 'd steal an ambrosial kiss. 

'Tis she does the virgin excel, 

ITo beauty with ber may compare; 
Love's graces around her do dwell, 

She's fairest, whe;e thousands are i';iir 
Say, charmer, whei-e do thy flocks str;iv ? 

O ! tell me at noon where they feed ; 
Is it on the sweet-wending Tay, 

Or pleasanter banks of the Tweed ? 



THE POSIE. 

It appears evident to me that Oswald composed his "Roslin 
Castle" on the modulation of this air.' In the second part of 
Oswald's, in the ^ri:it three bars, he has either hit on a wonder- 
ful similarity to, or else he has entirely borrowed, the first three 
bars of the old air; and the close of both tunes is almost 
exactly the same. The old verses to which it was sung, when I 
took down the notes from a country girl's voice, had no great 
merit. The following is a specimen : — 

There was a pretty May,^ and a-railkin' she went , 
Wi' her red rosy cheeks, and her coal black hnir ; 

And she has met a young man a-comin' o'er the bent. 
With a double and adieu to thee, fair May ! 

O, where are ye goin', my ain jiretty May, 

V/i' thy red rosy cheeks, and thy coal black hair? 

Unto the yowes a-milkin', kind sir, she says, — 
With a double and adieu to thee, fair May ! 

What if I gang alang v.'i' thee, my ain pretty May, 
Wi' thy red rosy cheeks and thy coal 1)1 ack hair? 

Wad I be auyht the warse o' that, kind sir, she says, — 
With a double and adieu to thee, fair May ! 

' Oswald was not the composer of " Roslin Castie." * Maidea. 



^__, nr 

630 



MARY'S DREAM. 

The Mary here alluded to is generally supposed to be Mibs 
Mary Macgliie, daughter of the Laird of Airds, in Galloway. 
The poet was a Mr. John Lowe,' who likewise wrote another 
beautiful song, called " Pompey's Ghost." I have seen a poetic 
epistle from him in North America, where he now iy, or lately was, 
to a lady in Scotland. By the strain of the verses, it appeared 
that they allude to some love affair. 

The moon had climbed the highest hill 

Wliich rises o'er the source of Dee, 
And from her eastern summit shed 

Her silver light on tower and tree ; 
When Mary laid her down to sleep, 

Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea ; 
When, soft and low, a voice was heard, 

Saying, " Mary, weep no more for me I" 

She from her pillow gently raised 

Her head, to aslc who there might be; 
She saw young Sandy shivering stand, 

With visage pale and hollow e'e : 
" O Mary dear ! cold is my clay, — 

It lies beneath a stormy sea ; 
Far, far from thee, I sleep in death, — 

So, Mary, weep no more for me ! 

" Three stormy nights and stormy days 

We tossed upon the raging main, 
And long we strove our bark to save, 

But all our striving was in vain. 
Even then, when horror chilled my blood. 

My heart was filled Avith love for thee: 
The storm is past, and I at rest. 

So, Mary, weep no more for me ! 

" O maiden dear, thyself prepare, 

We soon shall meet upon that shore 
Where love is free from doubt and care. 
And thou and I shall part, no more." 
Loud crowed the cock, the shadow fled, 

No more of Sandy could she see ; 
But soft tlie passing spirit said, 
" Sweet Mary, weip no more for me ! " 

' He was iulnr in her father's family. Her betrothed being lost at 
eea, Lowe composed this beautiful ballad in memory of her grief. 



J 



631 



THE MAID THAT TENDS THE GOATS. 

BY MR. DUBGEON. 

This Dudgeon is a respectable farmer's son in Berwickshiro 

Up amang yon cliffy rocks 

Sweetly rings the rising echo, 

To the maid that tends the goats, 

Lilting' o'er her native notes. 

Hark ! she sings, Young Sandie'.s kind. 

And he's promised aye to lo'e me, 

Here 's a brooch I ne'er shall tiiie^ 

Till he 's fairly married to me. 

Drive awa}^ ye drone, Time, 

And bring about our bridal day. 

Sandy herds a flock o' sheep; 
Aften does he blaw the whistle, 
In a strain sae vastly sweet, 
Lam'ies listening dare na bleat ; 
He 's as fleet 's the mountain roe, 
Hardy as the Hign/and heather. 
Wading through the vi'inter snow. 
Keeping aye his flock together. 
But. wi' plaid and bare houghs,' 
He braves the bleakest northern blaist, 

Brawly he can dance and sing. 

Canty glee or Highland cronach : 

Kane can ever match his fling, 

At a reel, or round a ring; 

Wightly® can he wield a rung.* — 

In a brawl he's aye the baughter ;'' 

A' his praise can ne'er be sung 

By the langest-winded sangster! 

Sangs that sing o' Sandy 

Seem short, though they were e'er sae lang. 



I WISH MY LOVE WERE IN A MIRE. 

T NEVER heard more of the words of this old song than the 
title. 

' Singing. ' Lose. ^ I'e.?s. * Lament. 

* Stoutly, • Cudgel. '' Wijiner. 



632 



ALLAN WATEB.' 

Tins Allan Water, which the composer of the music ha? hon- 
oured with the name of the air, I have been told is Allan TVater 
in Strathallan. 

What numbers shall the Muse repeat, — 

What verse be found to j^raise my Annie ! 
On her ten thousand graces wait, 

Each swain admires and owns she's bonnie. 
Since first she strode the happy plaiu, 

She set each youthful heart on fire; 
Each nymph does to her swain complain, 

That Annie kindles new desire. 

This lovely, darling, dearest care, 

This new delight, this charming Annie, 
Like summer's dawn she's fresh and fiiir. 

When Flora's fragrant breezes fan ye. 
All day the am'rous youths convene, 

Joyous they sport and play before her; 
All night, when she no more is seen. 

In joyful dreams they stiU adore her. 

Among the crowd Amyntor came, 

He looked, he loved, he bowed to Annie ; 
His rising sighs express his fiame. 

His words were few, his wishes many. 
With smiles the lovely maid replied, 

" Kiud shepherd, why should I deceive ye? 
Alas ! your love must be denied. 

This destined breast can ne'er relieve ye." 

Youug Damon came, with Cupid's art, 

His wiles, his smiles, his charms beguiling ; 
He stole away my virgin heart : 

Cease, poor Amyntor ! cease bewailing. 
Some brighter beauty you may find; 

Ou 3'onder plaiu the nymphs are many ; 
Then choose some heart that's unconfined, 

And leave to Damon his own Annie. 



By Robert Crav/fordj of Auohuamea, 



533 

THERE'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE.* 

This is one of the most beautiful songs in the Scots or apy 
other lano'uage. The two lines, — 

And -will I see his face again ! 
And will I hear him speak ! 

as well as the two preceding ones, are unequalled almost by 
anything I ever heard or read ; and the lines, — 

The present moment is our ain, 
The niest we never saw^ — 

are worthy of the first poet. It is long posterior to Ramsay's 
days. About the year 1771, or '72, it came first on the streets 
as a ballad ; and I suppose the composition of the song was not 
much anterior to that period. 

There's nae luck about the house, 

There's nae luck at a' ; 
There's little pleasure in the house, 

When our guidman 's awa'. 

And are you sure the news is trueP 

And do you say he's weel? 
Is this a time to speak of wark ? 

Te jades, lay by your wheel ! 
Is this a time to spin a thread, 

When Colin 's at the door P 
Reach me my cloak — I '11 to the quay. 

And see him come ashore. 

And gi'e to me my bigonet, 

My bishop's sa.lin gown, 
For I maun tell the baillie's wife 

That Colin 's in the town. 
My turken slippers maun gae on. 

My stockings pearly blue ; 
"Tis a' to pleasure my guidman. 

For he 's baith leal and true. 

Rise, lass ! and mak' a clean fireside, 

Put on the muckle pot ; 
Gi'e little Kate her button gown, 

And Jock his Sunday coat ; 
And mak' their shoon as black as slacs. 

Their hose as white as snaw ; 
"Tis a' to pleasure my guidman. 

For he 's been lang awa'. 

There's twa fat hens upo' the coop, 
Been fed this month and raair ; 

' Written by William Julius Mickle, of Langholm, 



ir 



534 TARRY WOO*. 

MaV haste and thraw their necks about, 
That Colm weel may fare ; 

And mak' the table neat and trim ; 
Let every thing be braw ; 

For who kens how my Colin fared 
When he was far awa' H 

Sae true his heai-t, sae smooth his 8])eech,^ 

His breath like caller air, — 
His very foot hath music in 't 

As he comes up the stair. 
And shall I see his face again ! 

And shall I hear him speak ! 
I'm downright giddy wi' the thought, — 

In truth I 'm like to greet. 

If Colin's weel, and weel content, 

I ha'e nae mair to crave ; 
And gin I live to mak' him sae, 

I 'ra blest aboon the lave. 
And shall I see his face again, &c. 



TARRY WOO'. 

This is a very pretty song ; but I fancy that the first half- 
stanza, as well as the tune itself, are much older than the rest 
of th« words. 

0, Tarry woo' is ill to spin ; 

Card it weel ere ye begin ; 

Card it weel and draw it sma'. 

Tarry woo 's the best of a'. 



GRAMACHREB. 

The song of " Gramachree " was composed by Mr. Poe, a coun- 
sellor-at-law in Dublin. This anecdote I had from a gentleman 
who knew the lady, the " Molly," who is the subject of the song, 
and to whom Mr. Poe sent the rirst manuscript of his most 
beautiful verses. I do not remember any single hne that has 
more true pathos than- 

How can she break the honest heart 
That wears her in its core ! 

But as the song is Irish, it has nothing to do with this col- 
lection.'" 

' This verse was written by Dr. Beattie. 
' We give the words of this song. 



GRAMACHREE. 636 

Ab down ou Banna's banks I strayed. 

One evening in May, 
The little birds, in blithest notes, 

Made vocal every spray : 
They sang their little notes of love; 

They sang them o'er arid o'er, — 
Ah ! gramachree, mo challie nouge, 

Mo Molly astore ! 

The daisy pied, and all the sweets 

The dawn of nature yields ; 
The primrose pale, the violet blue, 

Lay scattered o'er the fields. 
Such fragrance in the bosom lies 

Of her whom I adore, — 
Ah ! gramachree, mo challie nouge, 

Mo Molly astore ! 

I laid me down upon a bank, 

Bewailing my sad fate, 
That doomed me thus the slave of love. 

And cruel Molly's hate. 
How can she break the honest heart 

That wears her in its core 1 
Ah ! gramachree, mo challie nouge, 

Mo Molly astore ! 

You said you loved me, Molly dear ; 

Ah, why did I believe ! 
Yes, who could think such tender words 

Were meant but to deceive P 
That love was all 1 asked on earth, 

Nay, Heaven could give no more ; 
Ah ! gramachree, mo challie nouge, 

Mo Molly astore ! 

! had I all the flocks that graze 
On yonder yellow hill ; 

Or lowed for me the numerous herds 

That yon green pastures fill : 
"With her I love I 'd gladly share 

My kine and fleecy store, 
Ah ! gramachree, mo challie nouge, 

Mo Molly astore ! 

Two turtle-doves above my head 
Sat courting on a boush; 

1 envied them their ha] iness, 
To see them bill and coo. 



(j36 the COLLIER'S BONNIE LASSIE. 

Sncli fondness once for me she showed, 

T5at now, alas ! tis o'er; 
Ah ! gramachree, mo challie nouge, 

Mo Molly astore! 

Then fare thee well, my Molly dear ! 

Thy loss I still shall moan ; 
Whilst life remains in Strephon's heart, 

'T will beat for thee alone. 
Though thou art false, rnay Heaven on thee 

Its choicest blessings pour ! 
Ah ! gramachree, mo challie nouge. 

Mo Molly astore ! 



THE COLLIER'S BONNIE LASSIE. 

The first half-stanza is much older than the days of Ramsay 
The old words began thus : — 

The collier has a dochter, and ! she 's wonder bonaie ; 
A laird he was that sought her, rich baith in lands and 

money. 
She wad nae ha'e a laird, nor wad she be a lady; 
But she wad ha'e a collier, the colour o' her daddie. 

The verses in Johnson's "Museum" are pretty: Allan Ran> 

Bay's songs are always true to nature. 

The collier has a daughter, 

And 0, she 's wonder bonniel 
A laird he was that sought her. 

Rich baith in land and money. 
The tutors watched the motion 

Of this young honest lover; 
But love is like the ocean — 

Wha can its deeps discover? 

He had the heart to please ye. 

And was by a' respected ; 
His airs sat romid him easy, 

Genteel, but unaffected. 
The colh'er's bonnie lassie. 

Fair as the- new-blown lily. 
Aye sweet and never saucy, 

Secured the heart of Willie. 






J/F AIN KIND DEARIE, 0. 527 

He loved, beyond expression, 

The charms that were about her, 
And panted for possession — 

His hfe was dull without her. 
After mature resolving, 

Close to his breast he held her. 
In saftest flames dissolving. 

He tenderly thus telled her : — 

*' ]\Iy bonnie collier's daughter, 

Let naething discompose ye; 
'Tis no your scanty tocher 

Shall ever gar me lose ye. 
For I have gear in plenty, 

And love says 'tis my duty. 
To ware what Heaven has leut m© 

Upon your wit and beauty." 



MY Am KIND DEARIE, 0. 

The old words of this song are omitted here, though much 
more beautiful than these inserted, which were mostly composed 
by poor Fergusson, in one of his merry humours. They begau 
thus: — 

I 'U rowe thee o'er the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, O, 
I '11 rowe thee o'er the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, 0. 
Although the night were ne'er s-ae wa^ 

And I were ne'er sae weary, 0, 
I 'U rowe thee o'er the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, 0. 

Fergusson's song : — 

Nae herds wi' kent, and coUie there, 

Shall ever come to fear ye, 0, 
But laverocks whistUug in the aii', 

Shall woo, like me, their dearie, 1 

While others herd their lambs and eweS, 

And toil for world's gear, my jo, 
U]")on the lea my pleasure grows 

Wi' you, my kind dearie, 1 



t 



638 MARY SCOTT, THE FLOWER OF YARROW. 

Will ye ga?ig o'er the lea-rig ? 

My ain kind dearie, ! 
And cuddle there sae kindly wi' me? 

My kind dearie, ! 

At thorny dyke, and birkin tree, 
"We '11 daff", and ne'er be weary, O ! 

They '11 sing ill e'en trae you and me, 
Mine ain kind dearie, ! 



MAET SCOTT, THE FLOWER OF YAREOW. 

Mr. Robertson, in his " Statistical Account of the Parish of 
Selkirk," says, that Mary Scott, the Flower of Yarrow, was de- 
scended from the Dryhope and married into the Harden family. 
Her daughter was married to a predecessor of the present Sir 
Francis Elliot, of Stobbs, and of the late Lord Heath field. 

There is a circumstance in their contract of marriage that 
merits attention, and it strongly marks the predatory spirit of 
the times. The father-in-law agrees to keep his daughter for 
some time after the marriage, for which the son-in-law binds 
himself to give him the protits of the first Michaelmas moon. 

Allan Ramsay's version is as follows : — 

Happy 's the love which meets return. 
When in soft fiame souls equal barn; 
But words are wanting to discover 
The torments of a hapless lover. 
Ye registers of Heaven, relate, 
If looking o'er the rolls of Fate, 
Did you there see me marked to marrow 
Mary Scott, the Flower of Yarrow x 

All, no! her form's too heavenly fair,— 
Her love the gods alone must share; 
While mortals with despair explore licr. 
And at a distance due adore her. 
O lovely maid ! my douljts beguile. 
Revive and l:)leHs me with a smile : 
Alas ! if not. you '11 soon debar a' 
Sighing sv/ain on the banks of Yarrow. 

Be hush, ye fears ! I '11 not despair, — 
My Mary 's tender as she 's fair ; 
Then I '11 go tell her all mine anguish; 
Siie is too good to let me languish, 



F^ 



111 r 



a 



DOWJV THE BURN, DA VIE. c39 

With success crowned, I '11 not envy 
The folks who dwell above the sky ; 
When Mary Scott's become my marrow, 
We '11 make a paradise of Yarrow. 



DOWN THE BUEN", DAVIE. 

I HAVE been informed that tlie tune of " Down the Burn, 
Davie," was the composition of David Maigh, keeper of the 
blood slough hounds belonging to the Laird of Riddel, in 
Tweeddale. 



BLINK OVER THE BURN, SWEET BETTIB. 
The old words, all that I remember, are, — 

Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, 

It ig a cauld winter night ; 
It rains, it hails, it thunders. 

The moon she gi'es na light. 
It 's a' for the sake o' sweet Betty 

That ever I tint my way ; 
Sweet, let me lie beyond thee 

Until it be break o' day. 

O, Betty will bake my bread, 

And Betty will brew my ale, 
And Betty will be my love. 

When I come over the dale. 
Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, 

Blink over the burn to me. 
And while I ha'e life, dear lassie. 

My ain sweet Betty thou's be. 



THE BLITHESOME BRIDAL. 

T FIND "The Blithesome Bridal " in James Watson's collection 
of Scots poems, printed at Edinburgh in 1706. This collection, 
the publisher says, is the first of its nature which has been 
published in our own native Scots dialect. It is now extremelj 
scarce. 



640 THE BLITHESOME BRIDAL. 

Come, fye, let us a' to the wedding. 

For there will be lilting there, 
For Jock will be married to Maggie, 

The lass wi' the gowdeii hair. 
And there will be lang kail and castocks. 

And bannocks o' barley-meal ; 
And there will be guid saut herring. 

To relish a cog o' guid ale. 

And there will be Sandy the sutor, 

And Will wi' the meikle mou, 
And there will be Tarn the b hitter, 

With Andrew the tinkler, I trow ; 
And there will be bow-legged Eobie, 

With thumbless Katie's gudeman. 
And there will be blue-cheeked Dobbie, 

And Laurie, the laird of the Ian'. 

And thei-e will be sow-hbber Patie, 

And plookie-faced Wat i' the mill; 
Capper-nosed Francis and Gibbie, 

That wons i' the howe o' the hill: 
And there will be Alister Sibbie, 

Wha in wi' black Bessie did mool, 
With snivelling Lihe and Tibbie, 

The lass that stands aft on the stooi. 



And there will be fadges and brochan, 

Wi' rowth o' guid gabbocks o' skato ; 
Pov'sowdie and draimmock and crowdie. 

And caller nowt feet on a plate; 
And there will be partans and buckles, 

And whitings and speldings anew ; 
With singed sheep-heads and a haggis, 

And scadlips to sup till ye spue. 

And there will be lappered milk kebbuck, 

A nd sowens, and carles, and laps ; 
With swats and well-scraped paunches, 

And brandy in stoups and in caps ; 
And there will be meal-kail and porrage, 

Wi' skivk to sujj till ye reve. 
And roasts to roast on a brander, 

Of flewks that were taken alive. 

Scrapt haddocks, wilks, dulse, and tangle, 
And a mill o' guid snishing to ]n-ie : 

When weary wi' eating and drinking, 
We '11 rise up and dance till we die. 



JOHN HAT'S BONNIE LASSIE. 641 

Then, fye, let 's a' to the bridal, 

For there will be lilting there, 
For Jock '11 be married to Maggie, 

The lass wi' the gowdeu hair. 

Lord INapier, in a letter to Mark Napier, dated Thirlestane, 
December 15, 1831, says of this song, — "Sir William Scott 
was the author of that well-known Scots song, ' Fye, let us a' 
to the Bridal ' — a better thing than Horace ever wrote. My 
authority was my father." 



JOHN" HAT'S BONNIE LASSIE. 

John Hat's "Bonnie Lassie" was daughter of John Hay, 
Earl or Marquis of Tweeddale. and the late Countess Dowager 
of Roxburgh. She died at Broomlands, near Kelso, some time 
between the years 1720 and 1740. 

She 's fresh as the spring, and sweet as Aurora, 

When birds mount and sing, bidding day a good-morrow; 

The sward o' the mead, enamelled wi' daisies. 

Looks withered and dead when twinned of her graces. 

But if she appear where verdures invite her, 

The fountains run clear, and flowers smell the sweeter; 

'Tis heaven to be by when her wit is a-flowing, 

Her smiles and bright een set my spirits a-glowing. 



THE BONNIE BRUCKET LASSIE. 

The fii-st two lines of this song are all of it that is old The 
rest of the song, as well as those songs in the " Museum " marked 
T., are the works of an obscure, tippling, but extraordinary body 
of the name of Tytler, commonly known by the name of Balloon 
Tytler, from his having projected a balloon — a mortal who, though 
he drudges about Edinburgh as a common printer, with leaky 
shoes, a sky-lighted hat, and knee-buckles as unlike as George- 
by-the-grace-of-God and Solomon-the-son-of-David; yet that 
same unknown drunken mortal is author and compiler of three- 
fourths of Elliot's pompous " Encyclopsedia Britannica," which 
he composed at half-a-guinea a week. 

The bonnie brucket lassie. 
She 's blue beneath the een; 

She was the fairest lassie 
That danced on the green. 



542 ^AE MERRY AS WE TWA HA'E BE EH. 

A lad lie lo'ed her dearly, — 

She did his love return ; 
But he his vows has broken, 

And left her for to mourn. 

•' My shape," says she, " was handsome, 

My face was fair and clean ; 
But now I 'm bonnie brucket, 

And blue beneath the een. 
My eyes were bright and sparkling 

Before that they turned blue ; 
But now they *re dull with weeping. 

And a', my love, for you. 

*• O ! could I live in darkness, 

Or hide me in the sea. 
Since my love is unfaithful, 

And has forsaken me. 
No other love I suffered 

Within my breast to dwell; 
In nought have I offended, 

But loving him too well." 

Her lover heard her mourning, 

As by he chanced to pass ; 
And pressed unto his bosom 

The lovely brucket lass. 
*• My dear," said he, "cease grieving. 

Since that your love is true, — 
My bonnie brncket lassie, 

I '11 faithful prove to you." 



SAE MEEKY AS WE TWA HA'E BEEN. 

Tni.s song is beautiful. The chorus in particular is trul^^ 
pathetic. I never could learn anything of its author. 

CHORUS. 

Sae merry as we twa ha'e been, 
Sae merry as we twa ha'e been ; 

My heart it is like for to break, 

When I think on the days we ha'e seen. 

A lass that was laden wi' care 

Sat heavily under a thorn ; 
I listened awhile for to hear. 

When thus she began for to mourn ; 






THE BANKS -OF FORTH. 643 

"Whene'er my dear shepherd was there, 
The birds did melodiously sing, 
And cold nipping winter did wear 
A face that resembled the spring. 

"Our flocks feeding close by his side, 

He gently pressing my hand, 
I viewed the wide world in its pride, 

And laughed at the pomp of command. 
• My dear,' he would oft to me say, 

' What makes you hard-hearted to me ? 

! why do you thus turn away 
From him who is dying for thee P * 

•* But now he is far from my sight, — 
Perhaps a deceiver may prove. 
Which makes me lament day and night, 

That ever I granted my love. 

At eve, when the rest of the folk 

Were merrily seated to spin, 

1 sat myself under an oak 
And heavily sighed for him." 



THE BANKS OF FORTH. 

This air is Oswald's. 

[" Here 's anither — it 's no a Scots tune, but it passes for ane. 
Oswald made it himsel', I reckon. He has cheated mony a anCi 
but he canna cheat Wandering Willie." — Sir Walter Scott.] 

Ye sylvan powers that rule the plain. 
Where sweetly winding Fortha glides. 

Conduct me to those banks again. 
Since there my charming Mary bides. 

Those banks that breathe their vernal sweets 
Where every smiling beauty meets, 
Where Mary's charms adorn the plain. 
And cheer the heart of every swain. 

Oft in the thick embowering groves, 
Where birds their music chirp aloud, 

Alternately we sung our loves, 

And Fortha's fair meanders viewed. 

The meadows wore a general smile ; 
Love was our banquet all the while ; 
The lovely prospect charmed the eye^ 
To where the ocean met the sky. 



w 



^ 



644 THE BUSH A BOON TRAQUAIR. 

Once, on the gi'assy bank reclined, 

Where Forth ran by in murmurs deep, 

It was my happy chance to find 
The charming Mary hilled asleep ; 

My heart then leaped with inward bliss, 
I softly stooped, and stole a kiss ; 
She waked, she blushed, and gently blamed, 
" Why, Damon ! are you not ashamed?" 

Ye sylvan powers, ye rural gods, 
To whom we swains our cares impart. 

Restore me to those blest abodes. 

And ease, oh, ease my love-sick heart ! 

Those happy days again restore, 
When Mary and I shall part no more; 
When she shall fill these longing arms, 
And crown my bliss with all her charms. 



THE BUSH ABOON TRAQUAIR. 

This is another beautiful song of Mr. Crawford's composition. 
In the neighbourhood of Traauair, tradition still shows the old 
"Bush;" which, when I saw it in the year 1787, was composed 
of eight or nine ragged bircbes. The Earl of Traquair has 
planted a clump of trees near bv, which he calls "The New 
Bush." 

Hear me, ye nymphs, and every swain ! 

I '11 tell how Peggy grieves me ; 
Though thus I languish and complain, 

Alas ! she ne'er believes me. 
My vows and sighs, hke silent air. 

Unheeded, never move her. 
The bonny bush aboon Traquair, 
Was where I first did love her. 

That day she smiled and made me glad* 

No maid seemed ever kinder ; 
I thought mysel' the luckiest lad. 

So sweetly there to find her. 
I tried to soothe my am'rous flame 

In words that I thought tender ; 
If more there passed, I 'm not to blama^ 

I meant not to offend her. 

Yet now she scornful flees the plains. 

The fields we then frequented ; 
If e'er we meet she shows disdain. 

She looks as ne'er acquainted. 



!-,_.. 



CROMLECK'S LILT. 545 

The bonnie bush bloomed fair in May, — 

Its sweets I '11 aye remember ; 
But now her fi'owns make it decay ; 

It fades as in December. 

Ye rural powers, who hear my strains, 
"Why thus should Peggy grieve mp? 

! make her partner in my pains ; 
Then let her smiles reUeve me. 

If not, my love will turn despair. 
My passion no more tender; 

1 '11 leave the bush aboon Traquair, 
To lonely wilds I '11 wander. 



CROMLECK'S LILT. 

The following interesting account of this plaintive dirge was 
communicated to Mr. Riddel by Alexander Fraser Tytler, Esq., of 
Woodhouselee : — 

" In the latter end of the sixteenth century, the Chisholms 
were proprietors of the estate of Cromlecks (now possessed by 
the Drummonds). The eldest son of that family was veiy much 
attached to the daughter of Stirling of Ardoch, commonly known 
by the name of Fair Helen of Ardoch. 

" At that time the opportunities of meeting between the sexes 
were more rare, consequently more sought after, than now ; and 
the Scottish ladies, tar from priding themselves on extensive 
hterature, were thought sufficiently book-learned if they could 
make out the Scriptures in their mother-tongue. Writing was 
entirely out of the Une of female education. At that period 
the most of our young men of family sought a fortune, or found 
a grave, in France. Cromleck, when he went abroad to the war, 
was obliged to leave the management of his correspondence 
with his mistress to a lay brother of the monastery of Dumblain, 
in the immediate neighbourhood of Cromleck, and near Ardoch. 
This man, unfortunately, was deeply sensible of Helen's charms. 
He artfully prepossessed her with stories to the disadvantage of 
Cromleck ; and, by misinterpreting or keeping back the letters 
and messages intrusted to his care, he entirety irritated both. 
All connection was broken off betwixt them : Helen was incon- 
solable; and Cromleck has left behind him, in the ballad called 
' Cromleck's Lilt,' a proof of the elegance of his genius, as well 
as the steadiness of his love. 

" When the artful monk thought time had suffioiently softened 
Helen's sorrow, he proposed himself as a lover. Helen was 
obdurate ; but at last, overcome by the persuasions of her 
brother, with whom she Hved — and who, having a family of 

N » 



546 CROMLECK'S LILT. 

thirty-one children, was probaljly very well pleased to get her of?" 
Ills hands — she submitted rather than consented to the ceremony : 
but there her compliance ended ; and, when forcibly put into 
bed, she stai'ted qnite frantic from it, screaming out, that after 
three gentle raps on the wainscot, at the bed-head, she heard 
Cromieck's voice, crying, ' Helen, Helen, miud me ! ' Crom- 
leclc soon after coming home, the treachery of the confidant was 
discovered, her marriage annulled, and Helen became Lady 
Cromleck " 

N.B. — Margaret Murray, mother of these thirty-one children, 
was daughter of Murray of Strewn, one of the seventeen sons of 
Tullybardine, and whose youngest son, commonly called the 
Tutor of Ardoch, died in the year 1715, aged 111 years. 

cromleck's lilt. 

Since all thy vows, false maid, 

Are blown to air, 
And my poor heart betrayed 

To sad despair. 
Into some wilderness, 
My grief I will express. 
And thy hard-heartedness, 

cruel fair ! 
Have I not graven onr loves 

On ev'ry tree 
In yonder spreading groves. 

Though false thou beP 
Was not a solemn oath 
Plighted betwixt us both — 
Thou thy faith, I my troth, — 

Constant to 1 i ■ ? 

Some gloomy place I '11 find. 

Some doleful shade. 

Where neither sun nor wind 

E'er entrance had: 

Into that hollow cave. 

There will I sigh and rave, 

Because thou dost behave 
So faithlessly. 

Wild fruit shall be my meat, 

1 '11 drink the spi-ing 
Cold earth shall be my seat; 

For covering 
1 '11 have the starry sky 
My head to canopy. 
Until my soul on high 

Shall spread its wing. 



J/r DEAR I hi, IF THOV DIE 647 

I '11 have no funeral fire, 

Nor tears for me : 
No grave do I desire 

Nor obsequie. 
The courteous redbreast he 
With leaves will cover me, 
And sing my elegy, 

With doleful voice. 

And when a ghost I am 

I '11 visit thee, 
thou deceitful dame ! 

Whose cruelty 
Has killed the fondest heart 
That e"er felt Cupid's dart, 
And never can desert 

From loving the*?. 



MY DEAEIE, IF THOU DIE. 
JOTHER beautiful song of Crawford's. 

liOve never more shall give me pain. 

My fancy 's fixed on tbee ; 
Nor ever maid my heart shall gain, 

My Peggy, if thou die. 
Thy "beauty doth such pleasure give, 

Thy love 's so true to me, 
Without thee I can never live, 

My dearie, if thou die. 

If fate shall tear thee from my breast, 

How shall I lonely stray ! 
In dreary dreams the night I "11 waste. 

In sighs the silent day. 
I ne'er can so much virtue find. 

Nor such perfection see ; 
Then I '11 renounce all womankind. 

My Peggy, after thee. 

No new-blown beauty fires my he.<irt 
With Cupid's raving rage ; 

But thine, which can such sweets impart. 
Must all the world engage. 

*Twas this that, like the morning sun- 
Gave joy and life to me ; 

And when its destined day is done. 
With Peggy let me die. 



648 SHE ROSE AND LET ME IN. 

Ye powers, that smile on virtuous love. 

And in such pleasure share ; 
You, who its faithful flames approve. 

With pity view the fair : 
Restore my Peggy's wonted charms, 

Those charms so dear to me ! 
O, never rob them from these arms I 

I 'ra lost if Peggy die. 



SHE EOSE AND LET ME IN.' 

The old set of this song, which is still to be found in printed 
collections, is much prettier than this ; but somebody — I believe 
it was Ramsay — took it into his head to clear it of some seeming 
indehcacies, and made it at once more chaste and more dull. 

The version in the *' Museum" is as follows: — 

The night her silent sables wore, 

And gloomy were the skies. 
Of glittering stars appeared no moi'S 

Than those in Nelly's eyes, 
When to her father's door I came. 

Where I had often been,— 
I begged my fair, my lovely damQ, 

To rise and let me in. 

But she, with accents all divine. 

Did my fond suit reprove, 
And while she chid my rash design. 

She but intiamed my love. 
Her beauty oft had pleased before. 

While her bright eyes did roll: 
But virtue only had the power 

To charm my very soul. 

These, who would cruelly deceive^ 

Or from such beauty part ? 
I loved her so, I could not leave 

The charmer of my heart. 
My eager fondness I obe^red. 

Resolved she should be mine. 
Till Hymen to my arms conveyed 

My treasure so divine. 

* Pruicis Seraple, of Belltrees, was the writer oi this song. 



rt 



WILL YE GO TO THE EWE-BUGHTS, MARION? 649 

Now happy in my Nelly's love, 

Transporting is my joy, 
No greater blessing can I prove, 

So blest a man am I. 
For beauty may a while retain 

The conquered flatt'ring mart. 
But virtue only is the chain 

Holds, never to depart. 



WILL YE GO TO THE EWE-BUGHTS,' MARION P 

I AM not sure if this old and charming air be of the south, 
as is commonly said, or of the north of Scotland. There is a 
song apparently as ancient as " Ewe-bughts, Marion," which 
sings to the same time, and is evidently of t)ie north : it begins 
thus : — 

The Lord o' Gordon had three doohters, 

Mary, Marget, and Jean, 
They wad na stay at bonnie Castle-Gordon, 
But awa' to Aberdeen. 

The first two verses run thus : — 

Will ye go to the ewe-bwghta, Marion, 

And wear in the sheep wi' me ? 
The sun shines sweet, my Marion, 

But nae half sae sweet as thee. 

O, Marion 's a bonnie lass, 

And the blithe blinks in her e'e; 
And fain wad I marry Maiion, 

Gin Marion wad marry me. 



LEWIS GORDON. 

This air is a proof how one of our Scots tunes comes to be 
composed out of another. I have one of the earliest copies of 
the song, and it has prefixed, — 

" Tune of Tarry Woo," 

of which tune a different set has insensibly varied into a dif- 
ferent air. To a Scots critic, the pathos of the Hue — 

" Though his back be at the wa'," 

must be very striking. It needs not a Jacobite prejudice to be 
afiected with this song. 

' Sheepfolds. 



550 THE WAUKING C ' THE FAULD. 

The cuppoBed author of " Lewis Gordon " waa a Mr. Geddea, 
priest, at Shenval, in the Ainzie. 

O ! send Lewie Gordon hame, 
And the lad 1 maunna name ; 
Though his back be at the wa', 
Here 's to him that 's far awa' ! 

0-hon ! my Highland man ! 

0, my bonnie Highland man ; 

Weel would I my true-love ken 

Amang ten thousand Highland men. 

O ! to see his tartan trews, 
Bonnet blue, and laigh-heeled shoes ; 
Philabeg aboon his knee ; 
That 's the lad that I '11 gang wi' ! 
0-hon! &c. 

The princely youth that I do mean, 
Is fitted for to be a king ; 
On his breast he wears a star ; 
Ton 'd take him for the god of war. 
0-hon ! &c. 

! to see this princely one 
Seated on a royal throne ! 
Disasters a' would disappear, — 
Then begins thn Jub'lee year ! 
0-hon ! &c. 

Lord Lewis Gordon, younger brother to the Dnke of Gordon, 
Bomuianded a detachment for Prince Charles Edward, in the 
affair of 1745-6, with great gallantry and judgment. He died in 
1764. 



THE WAUKING 0' THE FAULD. 

There are two stanzas still sung to this tune, which T take 
to be the original song whence Ramsay composed his beautiful 
song of that name in the "Gentle Shepherd." It begins, — 

" 0, will ye speak of our town, 
As ye come frae the fauld," &c. 

I i-egret that, as in many of our old songs, the delicacy of thifl 
old fragment is not equal to its wit and hiimour. 

ALLAN Ramsay's version. 

My Peggie is a young thing. 
Just entered in her teens ; 
Fair as the day, and sweet as May, 
Fail- as the day, and always gay. 



OH ONO CHRIO! 561 

My P('n-gie is a young thing, 

And I 'm not very auld ; 
Yet well I like to meet her at 

The waukiiig o' the fauld. 

My Peggie speaks sae sweetly. 

Whene'er we meet alane ; 
I Avish nae mair to lay my care, 
I Avish nae mair of a' that 's rare. 
My Peggie speaks sae sweetly, 

To a' the lave I 'm cauld ; 
But she gars a' my spirits glow. 

At wauking o' the fauld. 

My Peggie smiles sae kindly, 

Whene'er I whisper love. 
That T look down on a' the town, 
That I look down upon a crown. 
My Peggie smiles sae kindly. 

It makes me blithe and bauld; 
And naething gi'es me sic delight 

As wauking o' the fauld. 

My Peggie sings sae saftly. 

When on my pipe I ]'>lay: 
By a' the rest it is confessed. 
By a' the rest, that she sings best: 
My Peggie sings sae saftly, 

And in her songs are tauld, 
With innocence, the wale o' sense, 

At wauking o' the fauld. 



OH ONO CHRIOM' 

Dr. Blackcock informed ww that this song was composed on 
the infamous massacre of Glencoe.* 

! was not I a weary wight ! 

Maid, wife, and widow in one night ! 

When in my soft and yielding arms, 

! when most I thought him free from harms ; 

Even at the dead time of the night. 

They broke my bower, and slew my knight. 

' A mis-pronunciation of " Ochoin och rie!" a Gaelic exclamation 
expressive of deep son-ow and affliction, similar to that of "Oh! my 
heart ! " 

■•' This atrocious butchery happened in 1691, in the reign of, .md by 
order, it is believed, of D\itch William, or, at least, with his knowledge. 



552 I'LL NEVER LEAVE THEE. 

With ae lock of his jet-black hair 

I '11 tie my heart for evermair ; 

Nae sly-toiigned youth, nor flattering swain, 

Shall e'er untie this knot again : 

Thine still, dear youth, that heart shall be, 

Nor pant for aught save heaven and thee ! 



I'LL NEVES. LEAVE THEE. 

This is another of Crawford's songs, but I do not think in 
his happiest manner. What an absurdity to join such names 
as Adonis and Mary together ! 

One day I heard Mary say. 

How shall I leave thee ? 
Stay, dearest Adonis, stay. 

Why wUt thou grieve meP 



CORN-EIGS AEE BONNIE. 

All the old words that ever I could meet to this air were the 
following, which seem to have been an old chorus : — 

0, corn-rigs and rye-rigs, 

0, corn-rigs are bonnie ; 
And where'er you meet a bonnie lass, 

Preen up her cockernony. 



THE MUCKING 0' GEORDIE'S BYRE. 

The chorus of this song is old; the rest is the work of Balloon 

Tytler. 



BIDE YE YET. 

There is a beaiitiful song to this tune, beginning — 
" Alas, my son, you little know," 
which is the composition of Miss Jenny Graham, of Dumfries. 



BIDE TE YET. 665 

Alas ! my son, yon little know 
Tlift sorrows that from wedlock flow ; 
Farewell to every day of ease, 
When yon have got a wife to please. 

Sae bide ye yet, and bide ye yet, 
Ye little ken what 's to betide ye yet ; 
The half of that will gane ye yet, 
Gif a wayward wife obtain ye yet. 

Your hopes are high, yonr wisdom small, 
Woe has not had yon in its thrall ; 
The black cow on yonr foot ne'er trod, 
Which gars you sing along the road. 

Sae bide ye yet, &c. 

Sometimes the rock, sometimes the reel. 
Or some piece of the spinning-wheel. 
She '11 drive at yon, my bonnie chiel. 
And send yon headlang to the de'il. 

Sae bide ye yet, &c. 

When I, like you, was young and free, 
I valued not the proudest she ; 
Like you, my boast was bold and vain, 
That men alone were born to reign. 

Sae bide ye yet, &c. 

Great Hercules, and Samson, too, 
Were stronger far than I or you ; 
Yet they were baffled by their dears, 
And felt the distafl' and the shears. 

Sae bide ye yet, &c. 

Stout gates of brass and well-built walls 
Are proof 'gainst swords and cannon-ballB; 
But naught is found, by sea or land. 
That can a wayward wife withstand. 

Sae bide ye yet, &c. 

Here the remarks on the first volume of the "Musical Museum" 
conclude : the second volume has the following preface from 
the pen of Burns : — 

" In the first volume of this work, two or three airs, not of 
Scots composition, have been inadvertently inserted; which, 
whatever excellence they may have, Avas improper, as the col- 
lection IS solely to be the music of our own country. The songs 
contained in this volume, both music and poetry, are all of them 



n 



654 TRANENT-MUIR. 

the worlc of Scotsmen. Wherever the old words could be reco- 
vered, they have been preferred ; both as suiting better the 
genius of the tunes, and to preserve the productions of tlioso 
earlier sons of the Scottish Muses, some of whose names deserved 
a better fate than has befallen them, — ' buried 'midst the wreck 
of things which were.' Of our more modern songs, the Editor 
has inserted the authors' names as far as he can ascertain them ; 
and, as that was neglected in the first volume, it is annexed 
here. If he have made any mistakes in this affair, which he 
possibly may, he will be very grateful at being set right. 
_ " Ignorai'.ce and prejudice may perhaps affect to sneer at the 
simplicity of the poetry or music of some of these poems ; but 
their having been for ages the favourites of Nature's judges — 
the common people— was to the Editor a sufficient test of their 
merit. — Edinburgh, March 1, 1788." 



TEANENT-MUTR. 

" Tranent-Muik " was composed by a Mr. Sldrving, a very 
worthy, respectable farmer near Haddington ' I have heard the 
anecdote often, that Lieut. Smith, whom he mentions in the 
ninth stanza, came to Haddington after the publication of the 
song, and sent a challenge to Skirving to meet him at Hadding- 
ton, and answer for the unworthy manner in which he had 
noticed him in his song. " Gang awa' back," said the honest 
farmer, " and tell Mr. Smith that I ha'e nae leisure to come to 
Haddington ; but tell him to come here, and I '11 tak' a look o' 
him, and if he think I 'm fit to fecht him, I '11 fecht him ; and if 
no, I '11 do as he did-I '11 rin awa'." 

Stanza ninth, as well as tenth, to which the anecdote refers, 
shows that the anger of the Lieutenant was anything but un- 
reasonable. 

And Major Bowie, that worthy soul. 

Was brought down to the ground, man; 
His horse being shot, it was his lot 

For to get niony a wound, man : 
Lieutenant Smith, of Irish birth, 

Frae whom he called for aid, man. 
Being full of dread, lap o'er his head, 

And wadna be gainsaid, man! 

' Mr. Skirvins; was tenant of East Garleton, about a mile and a half 
to the uorth of Haddington. 



POL WART, ON THE GREEN. 666 

He made sic haste, sae spurred his baist, 

'Twas little there he saw, man ; 
To Berwick rade, and falsely said. 

The Scots were rebels a', man : 
But let that end, for well 'tis kenned. 

His use and wont to lie, man ; 
The teague is naught, — he never faugbt, 

When he had room to flee, man. 



POLWART, ON THE GREEN.' 

The author of " Polwart, on the Green," is Captain John 
Drummond M'Gregor, of the lamily of Bochaldie 

At Polwart, on the Green, 

If you '11 meet me the morn, 
Where lasses do convene 

To dance about the thorn, 
A kindly welcome ye shall meet 

Frae her wha likes to view 
A lover and a lad complete — 

The lad and lover you. 

Let dorty dames say na, 

As lang as e'er they please, 
Seem caxilder than the snaw, 

While inwardly they bleeze. 
But I will frankly shaw my mind, 

And yield my heart to thee ; 
Be ever to the captive kind 

That langs na to be free. 

At Polwart, on the Green, 

Amang the new-mown hay, 
With sangs and dancing keen, 

We '11 pass the heartsome diiy. 
At night, if beds be o'er thrang laid, 

And thou be twined of thine. 
Thou shalt be welcome, my dear lad, 

To take a part of mine. 



STREPHON AND LYDIA. 

The following account of this song T had from Dr. Blackloci : — 
The " Strejihon and Lydia" mentioned in the song were perhaps 

' Chalmers says "Polwart, on tlie Green," was written Ly Allan Ram 
say. 



c 



666 MT JO, JANET. 

the loveliest couple of their time. The gentleman was commonly 
known by the name of Beau Gibson. The lady was the " Gentle 
Jean," celebi-ated somewhere in Hamilton of Bangour's poems. 
Having frequently met at public places, they had formed a reci- 
procal attachment, which their friends thought dangerous, as 
their resources were by no means adequate to their tastes and 
habits of life. To elude the bad consequences of such a con- 
nection, Strephon was sent abroad with a commission, and 
perished in Admiral Vernon's expedition to Carthagena. 

The author of the song was WiUiam Wallace, Esq., of Cairn- 
hill, in Ayrshire. 

All lonely on the sultry beach. 

Expiring Strephon lay, 
No hand the cordial draught to reach; 

Nor cheer the gloomy way. 
Ill-fated youth ! no parent nigh. 

To catch thy fleeting breath, 
No bride to fix thy swimming eye, 

Or smooth the face of death ! 

Far distant from the mournful scene^ 

Thy parents sit at ease. 
Thy Lydia rifles all the plain, 

And all the spring, to j)lease- 
Ill-fated youth ! by lault of friend, 

Not force of foe depressed. 
Thou fall'st, alas ! thyself, thy kind. 

Thy country unredressed ! 



MY JO, JANET. 

[of the "museum."] 

Johnson, the publisher, with a foolish delicacy, refused to 
msert the last stanza of this humorous ballad. 

" O, sweet sir, for your courtesie. 

When ye come by the Bass, then, 
For the love ye bear to me, 

Buy me a keeking-glass then." 
Keek into the draw-well, 

Janet, Janet; 
And there ye '11 see your bonnie sal'. 
My jo, Janet. 



rfc 



LOVE IS THE CAUSE OF MY MOURNING. 667 

" Keeking in the draw-well clear, 
What if I should fa' in then P 
Syne a' my kin will say and swear 
I drowned mysel' for sin, then." 
Had the better by the brae, 

Janet, Janet; 
Had the better by the brae, 

My jo, Janet. 

" Good sir, for your conrtesie, 

Coming through Aberdeen, then, 
For the love ye bear to me. 

Buy me a pair of sheen' then." 
Clout the auld, the new are dear, 

Janet, Janet ; 

A pair may gain ye half a year. 

My jo, Janet. 

** But what, if dancing on the green, 
An' skipping Hke a maukin,* 
If they should see my clouted sheen. 

Of me they will be tauking." 
Dance aye laigh,* and late at e'en, 

Janet, Janet ; 
Syne a' their fauts will no be seen, 
My jo, Janet. 

" Kind sir, for your courtesie, 

When ye gae to the Cross, then. 
For the love ye bear to me, 

Buy me a pacing horse, then." 

Pace upo' your spinning-wheel, 

Janet, Janet ; 

Pace npo' your spinning-wheel. 

My jo, Janet. 

" My spinning-wheel is auld and stiflf. 
The rock o' t winna stand, sir ; 
To keep the temper-pin in tiff. 

Employs right aft my hand, sir." 
Make the best o' that ye can, 

Janet, Janet ; 
But like it, never wale* a man, 
My jo, Janet. 



LOVE IS THE CAUSE OF MY MOTJENING. 

The words by a Mr. R. Scott, from the town or neighbour- 
hood of Biggar. 

' Shoea. ' Hare. * Low, * Choose. 



558 FIFE, AND ALL THE LANDS ABOUT IT. 

By a mnrmuring stream a fair shepherdess lay: 
Be so kind, ye nymphs ! I oft heard her say. 
Tell Strephon I die, if he passes this way, 
And love is the cause of my niouniitig. 
False shepherds that tell ine of beauty and charms, 
Deceive me, for Strephon's cold heart never warms ; 
Yet bring me this Strephon, I '11 die in his arms j 
O Strepbon ! the cause of my mourning. 
But first, said she, let me go 
Down to tlie Shades below, 
Ere ye let Strephon know 
That I have loved him so : 
Then on my pale cheek no blushes will show 
That love is the cause of my mourning. 



FIFE, AND ALL THE LANDS ABOUT IT. 

This song is Dr. Blacklock's. He, as well as I, often gave 
Johnson verses, trifling enough, perhaps, but they served as a 
vehicle to the music. 

Allan, by his grief excited, 

Long the victim of despair, 
Thus dejolored his passion slighted, 

Thus addressed the scornful fair : — 
" Fife and all the lands about it, 

Undesiring I can see ; 
Joy may crown my days without it, — 

Not, my charmer, without thee. 

"Must I then for ever languish. 

Still complaining, still endure P 
Can her form create an anguish. 

Which her soul disdains to cure P 
Why by hopeless passion fated, 

Must I still those eyes admire, 
Whilst unheeded, un regretted. 

In her presence I expire ? 

** Would thy charms improve their power P 

Timely think, relentless maid ; 
Beauty is a short-lived flower. 

Destined but to bloom and fade ! 
Let that Heaven, whose kind impression 

All thy lovely features show, 
Melt thy soul to soft comjsassion 

For a su flaring lover's woe." 



6i>9 



WEKB NA MY HEAET LIGHT I WAD DIE. 

LoKD Hailes, in the notes to his collection of ancient Scot- 
tish poems, says that this song was the coinjwsition of Lady 
Grisel Baillie, daughter of the first Earl of Marchmont, and 
wife of George BailUe, of Jerviswood. 

There was ance a May, and she lo'ed na men, — 
She biggit her bonnie I^ower down in yon glen ; 
But now she cries dool ! and a-well-a-day ! 
Come down the green gate, and come here away. 

When bonnie young Johnny came o'er the sea, 
He said he saw naithing sae lovely as me ; 
He hecht me baith rings and niony braw things : 
And were na my heart light I wad die. 

He had a wee titty that lo'ed na me, 

Because I was twice as bonnie as she; 

She raised such a pother 'twixt him and his mother, 

That were na my heart Ught I wad die. 

The day it was set and the bridal to be, 

The wife took a dwam and lay down to die; 

She maiued and she grained out of dolour and pain. 

Till he vowed he never wad see me again. 

His kin was for ane of a higher degree, — 
Said, " What had he to do with the like of me ? " 
Albeit I was bonnie, I was na for Johnny : 
And were na my heart hght I wad die. 

They said I had neither cow nor caff. 
Nor dribbles of drink rins through the draff, 
Nor pickles of meal rins through the mill e'e; 
And were na my heart light I wad die. 

His titty she was baith wylie and slee, 
She spied me as I came o'er the lea ; 
And then she ran in and made a loud din, — 
Believe your ain een an' ye trow na me. 

His bonnet stood ance fu' round on his brew ; 
His auld ane looks aye as weel as some's new; 
But now he lets 't wear ony gate it will hing. 
And casts himself dowie upon the corn-bing. 

And now he gaes drooping about the dykes. 
And a' he dow do is to hund the tykes : 
The live-lang night he ne'er steeks his e'e; 
And were na my heart light I wad die. 



660 THE TOUjU/O MAIL'S DREAM 

Were I young for thee as I ance lia'e been, 

We should have been galloping down on yon green, 

And linking it on the lily-white lea ; 

And wow, 'gin I were but young for thee ! 



THE YOUNG MAN'S DEEAM. 
This song is the composition of Balloon Tytler. 

One night I dreamed I lay most easy, 

By a murm'i'ing river's side, 
Where lovely banks were spread with daisies^ 

And the streams did smoothly glide ; 
While around me and quite over, 

Spreading branches were displayed, 
All interwoven in due order. 

Soon became a pleasant shade. 

I saw my lass come in most charming. 

With a look and air so sweet; 
Every grace was most alarming, 

Every beauty most complete. 
Cupid with his bow attended; 

Lovely Yenus too was there : 
As his bow young Cupid bended. 

Far away flew carking Care. 

On a bank of roses seated. 

Charmingly my true-love sung; 
While glad Echo still repeated. 

And the hills and valleys rung : 
At the last by sleep oppressed, 

On the bank my love did lie. 
By young Cupid still caressed. 

While the Graces round did fly. 

The rose's red, the lily's blossom. 

With her charms might not compare; 
To view her cheeks and heaving bosom, 

Down they drooped as in despair. 
On her slumber I encroaching, 

Panting, came to steal a kiss ; 
Cupid smiled at me approaching, 

Seemed to say, " There 's naught amiss.** 

With eager wishes I drew nigher. 

This fair maiden to embrace ; 
My breath grew quick, my pulse beat higher? 

Gazing on her lovely face. 



3L 



TM£ TEARS OF SCOTLAND. 561 

The nymph awaMng, quickly chocked l.i8, 

Starting up with angry tone ; 
" Thus," says she, " do you respect me ? 

Leave me quick, and hence begone !" 
Cupid for me intei'posing, 

To my love did bow fall low ; 
She from him her hands unloosing, 

In contempt struck down his bow. 

Angry Cupid from. her flying, 

Cried out, as he sought the skies, 
"■Haughty nymjjhs their love denying, 

Cupid ever shall despise." 
As he spoke, old Care came wanderi: i %, 

With him stalked destructive Time ; 
Winter froze the streams meandering. 

Nipped the roses in their prime. 

Spectres then my love suiTounded, — 

At their back marched chilling Death ; 
Whilst she, frighted and confounded. 

Felt their blastnig pois'nous breath: 
As her charms were swift decaying, 

And the furrows seized her cheek ; 
Forbear, ye fiends ! I vainly crying, 

Waked in the attempt to speak. 



THE TEARS OF SCOTLAND. 

Dk. Blacklock told me that Smollett, who was at the bottom 
a great Jacobite, composed Ihes^ beautiful and pathetic verses 
on the infamous depredations of the Duke of Cumberland after 
the battle of CuUoden. 

Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn 
Thy banished peace, thy laurels torn ! 
Thy sons, for valour long renowned. 
Lie slaughtered on theii- native ground: 
Thy hospitable roofs no more 
Invite the stranger to the door; 
In smoky ruins sunk they lie, 
The moniiments of cruelty. 

The wretched owner sees, afar. 
His all become the prey of war ; 
Bethinks him of his babes and wife, 
Then smites his breast and curses life. 



o o 

ILLJI 



6G2 THE TEARS OF SCOTLAND. 

Thy swains are famiphed on the rocks 
Where once they fed their wanton flocks ; 
Thy ravished virgins shriek in vain ; 
Thy infants perish on the plain. 

What boots it, then, in every clime, 
Through the wide-spreading waste of time. 
Thy martial glory crowned with praise, 
Still shone with undiminished blaze ? 
Thy towering spirit now is broke, 
Thy neclc is bended to the yoke : 
What foreign arms could never quell 
By civil rage and rancour fell. 

The rural pipe and merry lay 
No more shall cheer the happy day; 
No social scenes of gay delight 
Beguile the dreary winter night : 
No strains but those of sorrow flow, 
And nought be heard but sounds of woe: 
While the pale phantoms of the slain 
Ghde nightly o'er the silent plain. 

O baneful cause ! fatal morn ! 
Accursed to ages yet unborn ! 
The sons against their father stood ; 
The parent shed his children's blood 1 
Yet when the rage of battle ceased. 
The victor's soul was not ajipeased ; 
The naked and forlorn must feel 
Devouring flames and murd'ring steel. 

The pious mother, Roomed to death, 
Forsaken, wanders o'er the heath; 
The bleak wind whistles round her head, 
Her helpless orphans cry for bread ; 
Bereft of shelter, food, and friend, 
She views the shades of night descend; 
And stretched beneath th' inclement skieSj 
Weeps o'er her tender babes, and dies. 

Whilst the warm blood bedews my veins. 
And unimpaired remembrance reigns. 
Resentment of my country's fate 
Within my filial breast shall beat; 
And, spite of her insulting foe, 
My sympathizing verse shall flow : 
Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn 
Thy banished peace, thy laurels torn I 



^ 



663 



AMI THE POOE SHEPHERD'S MOURNFUL FATE.^ 

The old title, " Sour Plums o' Gallashiels," probably was the 
betJ'inning of a song to this air, which is now lost. 

The tune of " Gallashiels " was composed about tbe begin- 
ning of the present century by the Laird of Gallashiels' piper- 
Tune — ' Gallashiels." 

Ah ! the poor shepherd's mournful fate, 

When doomed to love and languish, 
To bear the scornful fair one's hate, 

Nor dare disclose his anguish ! 
Yet eager looks and dying sighs 

My secret soul discover ; 
While rapture, tremWling through mine eyes. 

Reveals how much I love her. 
The tender glance, the reddening cheek, 

O'erspread with rising blushes, 
A thousand various ways they speak 

A thousand various wishes. 

For oh ! that form so heavenly fair. 

Those languid eyes so sweetly smiling. 
That ai-tless blush and modest air. 

So fatally beguiling ! 
The every look and every grace, 

So charm whene'er I view thee ; 
'Till death o'ertako me in the chase. 

Still will my hopes pur.sue thee : 
Th'Mi when my tedious hours are past. 

Be this last blessing given, 
Low at thy feet to breathe my last. 

And die in sight of heaven. 



MILL, MILL, 07 

The original, or at least a song evidently prior to Ramsay'K 
is still extant. It runs thus : — 

As I cam' down yon waterside, 

And by yon shellin'-hill, ! 
There I spied a bonnie, bonnie ItisSj 

And a lass that I loved right weel, O i 

' By William Hamilton, of Bangour, 



H 



664 WE RAA AND THEY RAN. 

CHORUS, 

The miU, mill, 0, and the kiU, kill, 0, 
And the coggin o' Peggy's wheel, 0, 

The sack and the sieve, and a' she did leave, 
And danced the miller's reel, 0. 



WE RAN AND THEY RAN. 

The author of " We ran and they ran " was a Rev. Mr. 
Murdoch M'Lennan, minister at Crathie, Dee-side. 

WALT, WALY. 

In the west country I have heard a different edition of the 
second stanza. Instead of the four lines beginning with 
" When cockle-shells," &c., the other way ran thus : — 

O, wherefore need I busk my head, 
Or wherefore need I kame my hair. 

Sin' my fause luve has me forsook, 
And says he'll never luve me mairP 

O waly, waly, up yon bank. 

And waly, waly, down yon brae, 
And waly by yon burn -side, 

Where I and my love were wont to gae. 

waly, waly, love is bonnie 

A little while, when it is new ; 
But when it 's auld it waxeth cauld, 
And fades away like morning dew. 

When cockle-shells turn siUer bells, 

And mussels grow on every tree; 
When frost and snaw shall warm us a'. 

Then shall my love prove true to me. 

1 lent my back unto an aik, 

I thought it was a trustie tree ; 
But first it bowed, and syne it brake. 
And sae did my fause love to me. 

Now Arthur-seat shall be my bed, 

The sheets shall ne'er be fyled by me : 
Saint Anton's well shall be my drink, 

Since my true love 's forsaken me. 
Mart'mas wind! when wilt thou blaw. 

And shake the greon leaves aff the tree P 
O gentle Death ! whan wilt thou come. 

And tak' a life that wearies me ? 



1 



J 



DUMBARTON DRUMS. 666 

l^s not the frost that freezes fell, 

Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie; 
'Tis not sic canld that makes me crj. 

But my love's heart e^rown cauld to ma 
Whan we cam' in l)y Glasgow town, 

We were a comely sight to see ; 
My love was clad in velvet black, 

And I mysel' iu cramasie. 

But had I wist before I kist, 

That love had been sae ill to win, 
I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd, 

And pinned it wi' a siller pin. 
Oh, oh ! if my young babe were bom. 

And set upon the nurse's knee. 
And I mysel' were dead and gone; 

For a maid again I '11 never be. 



DUNCAN GRAY. 

Dr. BiiACKLOCK informed me, that he had often heard the trs- 
dition that this air was composed by a carman in Glasgow. 



DUMBARTON DRUMS. 

This is the last of the West Highland airs ; and from it, over 
the whole tract of country to the confines of Tweed-side, there 
is hardly a tune or song that one can say has taken its origin 
from any place or transaction in that part of Scotland. The 
oldest Ayrshire reel is " Stewarton Lasses," which was made by 
the father of the present Sh' Walter Montgomery Cunniiij-ham, 
alias Loi'd Lysle ; since which period there has indeed been 
local music in that country in great plenty. " Johnnie Faa " is 
the only old song which I could ever trace as belonging to the 
extensive county of Ayr. 

Dumbarton drums beat bonnie, 0, 

When they mind me of my dear Johnnie, O : 

How happy am I 

When my soldier is by. 
While he kisses and blespp'' his Annie, O I 
'Tis a soldier alone can delight me, 0, 
For his graceful looks do unite me, ; 

While guarded in his arms, 

I '11 fear no war's alarms, 
Neither danger nor death shall e'er mght me, O. 



lU 



6(jf) CAULD KAIL IS ABEIWEEB. 

My love is a handsome laddie, 0, 
Genteel but ne'er foppish nor gaudie, O ; 

Though commissions are dear 

Yet I '11 buy him one this year, 
For he shall serve no longer a caddie, 0. 
A soldier has honour and bravery, O ; 
Unacquainted with vogues and their knavery, 0} 

He minds no other thing 

But the ladies or the King, 
For every other care is but slavery, 0. 

Then I'll be the Captain's lady, 0; 
Farewell all my friends and my daddy, ! 

I '11 wait no more at home, 

But I '11 follow with the drum. 
And whene'er that beats I 'U be ready, O. 
Dumbarton drums sound bonnie, O ; 
They are sprightly, like my dear Johnnie, O ; 

How hapjjy shall I be 

When on my soldier's knee, 
And he kisses and blesses his Annie, \ 



CAULD KAIL IN ABEEDEEN. 
This song is by the Duke of Gordon.' The old verses are, — 

There 's cauld kail in AberdeSn, 

And castocks in Strathbogie ; 
When ilka lad maun ha'e his lass, 

Then fye, gi'e me my coggie. 

Thei-e 's Johnnie Smith has got a ■wife, 
That scrimps him o' his coggie; 

If she were mine, upon my litie 
I wad douk her in a boggie. 

CHORtlS. 

My coggie, sirs, my coggie, sirs, 

I cannot want my coggie : 
I wadna gi'e my three-girred cup 

For e'er a quean in Bogie. — 

" The Cauld Kail " of his Grace of Gordon has long l>een a 
favourite in the North, and deservedly so, for it is full of life 
and manners. It is almost needless to say that kail is colewoi't, 
and much used in broth ; that caetocke are the •italks of a 

' Bom, 1743; died, 182t. 



CAVLD KAIL IN ABERDEEN. 667 

common cabbage ; and lliat coggie is a wooden dish for holding 
porridge : it is also a drinking vessel. 

There 's cauld kail in Aberdeen, 

And castocks in Stra'bogie; 
Gin I but ha'e a bonnie lass. 

Ye 're welcome to j'onr coggie ; 
And ye may sit up a' the night, 
And drink till it be braid daylight; 
Gi'e me a lass baith clean and tight. 

To dance the reel o' Bogit. 

In cotillons the French excel ; 

John Bull loves coiintra dances ; 
The Spaniards dance fandangos well; 

Mynheer an allemande prances : 
In foursome reels the Scots delight, 
At threesome they dance wond'rous light: 
But twasome ding a' out o' sight, 

Danced to the reel o' Bogie. 

Come, lads, and view your partners well. 

Wale each a blithesome rogie ; 
I '11 tak' this lasyie to mysel'. 

She looks sae keen and vogie ! 
Now, piper lad, bang up the spring; 
The countra fashion is the thing. 
To i^rie their mou's e'er we begin 

To dance the reel o' Bogie. 

Now ilka lad has got a lass. 

Save yon auld doited fogie, 
And ta'en a fling upo" the grass, 

As they do in Stra'bogie: 
But a' the lasses look sae fain. 
We canna think oursel's to haiil. 
For they maun ha'e their come-again 

To dance the reel o' Bogie. 

Now a' the lads ha'e done their best. 

Like true men o' Stra'bogie; 
"We '11 stop awhile and tak' a rest, 

And tipple out a coggie : 
Come, now, my lads, and tak' your glass. 
And try ilk other to surpass. 
In wisliing health to every lass 

To dance the reel o' Bogie. 



568 



FOR LACK OF GOLD. 

The country girls in Ayrshire, instead of the line — 

" She me forsook for a great duke." 

say, 

" For Athole's duke she me forsook." 

which I take to be the original reading. 

This song was written by the late Dr. Austin, physician, at 
Edinburgh. He had courted a lady, to whom he was shortly 
to have been married ; but the Duke of Athole, having seen her, 
became so much in love with her, that he made proposals of 
marriage, which were accepted of, and she jilted the Doctor. 

For lack of gold she 's left me, O ! 
And of all that's dear bereft me, ! 
For Athole's duke she me forsook, 

And to endless care has left me, O ! 
A star and garter have more art 
Than youth, a true and faithful heart; 
For empty titles we must part, 

And for glittering show she 's left me, O I 

No cruel fair shall ever move 
My injured heart again to love ; 
Through distant climates I must rove, 

Since Jeannie she has left me, ! 
Te powers above, I to your care 
Resign my faithless lovely fair: 
Your choicest blessings be her share, 

Though she 's for ever left me, O ! 



HERE'S A -HEALTH TO MY TRUE LOYE, &c. 

This song is Dr. Black lock's. He told me that tradition gives 
th.e air to our James IV. of Scotland. 

To me what are riches encumbered with care ! 
To me what is pomp's insignificant glare ! 
No minion of fortune, no pageant of state. 
Shall ever induce me to envy his fate. 

iTieir personal graces let fops idolize. 
Whose life is but death in a splended disguise; 
But soon the pale tyrant his right shall resume, 
And all their false lustre be hid in the tomb. 



TAr YOUR AULD CLOAK ABOUT YE. 5G9 

Let the meteor Discovery attract tlie fond sage, 
In fruitless researches for life to engage ; 
Content with my portion, the rest I forego, 
Nor labour to gain disappointment and woe. 

Contemptibly fond of contemptible self, 
While misers their wishes concentre in pelf; 
Let the god-like delight of imparting be mine,— 
Enjoyment reiiected is pleasure divine. 

Extensive dominion and absolute power 
May tickle ambition, perhaps, for an hour ; 
But power in possession soon loses its charms, 
While conscience remonstrates, and terror alarms. 

With vigour, teach me, kind Heaven, to sustain 
Those ills which in life to be fju tiered remain ; 
And when 'tis allowed me the goal to descry, 
For my species I Uved, for myself let me die. 

HEY TUTTI TAITL 
I HAVE met the tradition universally over Scotland, and par- 
ticularly about Stirling, in the neighbourhood of the scene, that 
this air was Eobert Bruce 's march at the battle of Bannock- 
burn.* _ 

TAK' TOUR AULD CLOAK ABOUT YE. 
A PAKT of this old song, according to the English set of it, 
is quoted in Shakespeare. In the drinking scene in 
" Othello,"— 

lago. — King Stephen was a worthy peer, 

His breeches cost him but a crown ; 
He held them sixpence all too dear, — 

With that he called the tailor loun; 
He was a wight of high renown, 

And thou art but of low degree : 
'Tis pride that pulls the country down, 

Then take thine auld cloak about thee. 

Old Song. 

In winter, when the rain rained cauld, 

And frost and snow on ilka hill, 
And Boreas, with his blasts sae bauld, 

Was threatening a' our kye to kill : 
Then Bell, my wife, wha loves na strife. 

She said to me rif 'it hastily, 
" Get up, guidman, ve Cromie 's life. 

And tak' your aw A cloak about ye." 

• Burns has made the air immortal by writing to it the worda oi 
"Scots wba ha'e yf'v' Wallace bled." 



.1.^- 



670 YE GODS! W \S STREPHON'S PICTURE BLEST f 

My Oromie is a useful cow, 

And she is come of a good kyne; 
Aft has she wet the bairns' mou', 

And I am laith that she should tyi^o. 
Get up, guidman, it is fu' time, 

The suli shines in the lift sae hie; 
Sloth never made a gracious end, — 

Go tak' your auld cloak about ye. 

My cloak was ance a good grey cloal:, 

When it was fitting for my wear ; 
But now it 's scantly worth a groat, 

For I have worn 't this thirty year. 
Let's spend the gear that we have won, 

We little ken the day we'll die; 
Then I '11 be proud, since I have sworn 

To have a new cloak about me. 

In days when our King Eobert rang, 

His trews they cost but haff a ci'own ; 
He said they were a groat o'er dear. 

And cnlled the tailor thief and loun. 
He was the king that wore a crown, 

And thou the man of laigh degree, — 
'Tis pride puts a' the country down, 

Sae tak' thy auld cloak about thee. 



YE GODS! WAS STREPHON'S PICTUEE BLEST? ' 

Tune — "Fourteenth of October." 

The title of this air shows that it alludes to the famous kinr^ 
Crispin, the patron of the honourable corporation of shoe- 
makers. St. Crispin's day falls on the 14th of October, old 
style, as the old proverb tells, — 

" On the fourteenth of October, 
Was ne'er a Sutor -' sober." 

Ye gods ! was Strej^hon's picture blest 
With the fair heaven of Chloe's breast? 
Move softer, thou loud fluttering heart! 
O, gently throb, too fierce thou art ! 
Tell me, thou brightest of thy kind. 
For Strephon was the bliss designed? 
For Strephon's sake, dear charming maid, 
Did'st thou prefer his wandering shade? 

' Composed by WilliJim Haiiiilton, of B.aigour, <in hearing that a well- 
bom and beautiful girl wore his portrait in her bosom. 
* Sutor, a shoemaker. 



1 



o 



HOB BED OF ALL THAT CHARMED MY VIEW. 6''1 

And thou, blessed shade, that sweetly art 
Lodged so near my Chloe's heart. 
For me the tender hour improve, 
And softly tell how dear I love. 
Ungrateful thing ! it scorns to hear 
Its wretched master's ardent prayer ; 
Ingrossing all that beauteous heaven 
That Chloe, lavish maid, has given. 

I cannot blame thee : were I lord 
Of all the wealth these breasts afford, 
I 'd be a miser too, nor give 
An alms to keep a god alive. 

! smile not thus, my lovely fair, 
On these cold looks that lifeless are: 
Prize him whose bosom glows with fire. 
With eager love and soft desire. 

'Tis true thy charms, powerful maid ! 
To life can bring the silent shade : 
Thou canst surpass the painter's art, 
And real warmth and flames impart. 
But, oh ! it ne'er can love like me, — 

1 ever loved, and loved but thee. 
Then, charmer, grant my fond request, 
Say, thou canst love, and make me bleat. 



SINCE ROBBED OF ALL THAT CHARMED MY 

VIEW. 

Tiii; old name of this air is " The Blossom o' the Rasj^berry " 
The song is Dr. Blacklock's. These are the first and last verses 
of it :— 

Since robbed of all that charmed my view, 

Of all my soul e'er fancied fair. 
Ye smiling native scenes, adieu, 

With each delightful object there! 
! when my heart revolves the joys 

Which in your sweet recess I knew. 
The last ".read shock, which life destroys, 

Is Heaven compared with losing you I 

Ah me! had Heaven and she proved kind. 
Then, full of age and ft-ee from care, 

How blest had I my hfe resigned. 
When first I breathed this vital air. 



572 YOUNG DAMON. 

But since no flattering hope reniainSj 
Let me m)^ wretched lot ptirsue ; 

Adieu ! dear friends and native scenes 
To all but grief and love, adieu \ 



YOUNG DAMON.* 
This air is by Oswald. 

Tune — " Highland Lamentation.'"' 

Amidst a rosy bank of flowers, 

Young Damon mourned his forlorn fate 5 
In sighs he spent his languid hours, 

And breathed his woes in lonely state. 
Gay joy no more shall ease his mind, 

No wanton sports can soothe his care. 
Since sweet Amanda proved unkind, 

And left him fuU of black despair. 

His looks, that were as fresh as morn, 

Can now no longer smiles impart ; 
His pensive soul, on sadness borne. 

Is racked and torn by Cupid's dart. 
Turn, fair Amanda, cheer your swain, 

Unshroud him from this vale of woe ; 
Range every charm to soothe the pain 

That in his tortured breast doth grow. 



KIRK WAD LET ME BE. 

Tradition, in the western parts of Scotland, tells that this old 
guug, of which there are still three stanzas extant, once saved a 
covenanting clergyman out of a scrape. It was a little prior to 
the Revolution, a period when being a Scots covenanter was 
being a felon, that one of their clergy, who was at that very 
time h^^nted by the merciless soldiery, fell in, by accident, with 
a pnrty of the military. The soldiers were not exactly acquainted 
with the person of the reverend gentleman of whom they were 
in search ; but, from suspicious circumstances, they fancied that 
they had got one of that cloth and opprobious persuasion auion^ 
them in the person of tliis sti'anger. " Mass John," to extricate 
himself, assumed a freedom of manners very unlike the gloomy 
strictness of his sect; and, among other convivial exhibitions, 

' Written by Robert Fergusson, 



KIRK WAD LET ME BE. 673 

fiung (and some traditions say composed, on tlie spur of tlie 
occasion) " Kirk wad let me be," with such effect, that the 

soldiers swore he was a d d honest fellow, and that it was 

impossible he could belong to those hellish conventicles ; and so 
gave him his liberty. 

The first stanza of this song, a little altered, is a favouwte 
kind of dramatic interlude, acted at country weddings in the 
south-west parts of the kingdom. A young fellow is dressed 
up like an old beggar. A jjeruke, commonly made of carded 
tow, represents hoary locks ; an old bonnet ; a ragged plaid, or 
surtout, bound with a straw rope for a girdle; a pair of old 
shoes, with straw ropes twisted round hifs ankles, as is done by 
shepherds in snowy weather. His face they disguise as like 
wretched old age as they can. In this plight he is brought into 
the wedding-house, frequently to the astonishment of strangers, 
who are not in the secret, and begins to sing, — 

" 0, I am a silly auld man. 

My name is auld Glenae,"' &c. 
He is asked to drink, and by-and-by to dance, which, after 
acme uncouth excuses, he is prevailed on to do, the fiddler play- 
ing the tune, which here is commonly called "Auld Glenae:" 
in short, he is all the time so plied with liquor, that he is under- 
stood to get intoxicated, ajid, with all the ridiculous gesticula- 
tions of an old drunken beggar, he dances and staggers until 
he falls on the floor; yet still, in all his riot — nay, inhis rolling 
and tumbling on the floor, with some or other drunken motion 
of his body — he beats time to the music, till at last he is sup- 
. posed to be carried out dead drunk. 

I am a silly puir man, 

Gaun hirplin' OAvre a tree ; 
For courting a lass in the dark, 

The kirk came haunting me. 
If a' my rags were off, 

And nought but h.ale claes on, 
0, I could please a young lass 

As well as a richer man. 
The parson he ca'ed me a rogue. 

The session and a' thegithert 
The justice he crieil, You dog, 

Tour knavery I '11 consider. 
Sae I drapt down on my knee. 

And thus did humbly piay, — 
O, if ye '11 let me gae free, 

My hale confession ye'se ha'e. 
' Glenae, on the small river Ae, in Annandale ; the seat ajul d signa- 
tion of an ancient branch, and the present representative, of tko ^allant 
and unfortunate Dalzels of Carnwath. — RnKXh. 



-H 



674 JOHNNY FA A, OH THE UYPSIE LADDIE 

'Twas late on Tysday at e'en, 

When the moon was on the grass, 
0, just for charity's sake, 

I was kind to a 1 'Cggar lass. 
She had begged down Annan-side, 

Lochmaben and Hightae; 
But de'il an awmeus she got, 

Till she met wi' auld Glenao. 



JOHNNY FAA, OR THE GYPSIE LADDIE. 

The people in Ayrshire begin this song — 

" The gypsies cam' to my Lord Cassilis' yett.' 

They have a great many more stanzas in this song than I ever 
yet saw in any printed copy. The castle is still remaining at 
Maybole, where his lordship shut up his wayward spouse, and 
kept her for life. 

The gypsies came to our lord's gate, 
And wow, but they sang sweetly ; 
They sang sae sweet, and sae complete, 
That down came the fair ladie. 

When she came tripping down the stair. 

And a' her maids before her ; 
As soon as they saw her weel-fared incd, 

They coost the glamour o'er her. 

** Gae tak' frae me this gay mantile. 
And bring to me a plaidie ; 
Tor if kith and kin and a' had sworn, 
I '11 follow the gypsie laddie. 

*' Yestreen I lay in a weel-made bed. 
And my good lord beside me ; 
This night I '11 lie in a tenant's bam. 
Whatever shall betide me." 

O ! come to your bed, says Johnny Faa, 

! come to your bed, my dearie ; 
For I vow and swear by the hilt of my sword. 

That your lord shall nae mair come near ye. 

"Ill go to bed to my Johnny Faa, 
And I '11 go to bed to my dearie ; 
For I vow and swear by what past yestreen. 
That my lord shall nae mair c.ome neai roe. 



11= 



jr 



TO DAUNTON ME. 676 

"I '11 mak' a hap to my Johnny Faa, 
And I "11 make a hap to my dearie ; 
And he 's get a' the coat gaes round, 

And my lord shall nae mair come near me.*' 

And when our lord came hame at e'en, 

And s])eired for his fair lady, 
The tane she cried, and the other replied, 

" She 's away wi' the gypsic laddie." 

*' Gae saddle to me the Ijlack, black steed, 
Gae saddle and mak' hira ready ; 
Before that I either eat or sleep, 
I '11 gae seek my fair lady." 

And we were fifteen well-made men, 

Although we were nae bonnie; 
And we were a' put down for ane, 

A fair young wanton lady.' 

The following verse has been added : — 

My lady's skin, like the driven snaw. 

Looked through her satin cleedin', 
Her white hause, as the wine ran down. 

It like a rose did redden. 



TO DAUNTON ME. 

The two following stanzas to this tune have some merits— 

To daunton me, to daunton me, 

O, ken ye what it is that '11 daunton me ? 

There's Eighty-eight and Eighty -nine, 

And a" that I ha'e borne sinsyne, 

There 's cess and press,'^ and Presbytrie, 

I think it will do meikle for to daunton me. 

But to wanton me, to wanton me, 

0, ken ye what it is that would wanton meP 

To see guid corn upon the rigs. 

And banishment amang the Whigs, 

And right restored where right si;d'* be, 

I think it would do meikle for to wanton me. 

> The Earl of Cassilis' lady. * Scot and lot, ^ Should 



JC 



576 



ABSENCE. 

A SONG in the manner of Sheustone. This song and air ar0 
both by Dr. Blacklock. 

Ye harvests that wave in the breeze, 

As far as the view can extend ; 
Ye mountains umbrageous with trees. 

Whose tops so majestic ascend; 
Your landscape what joy to survey, 

"Were MeHssa with me to admire ! 
Then the harvests would glitter how gay. 

How majestic the mountains aspire ! 

Ye zephyrs that visit my fair, 

Ye sunbeams around her that play, 
Does her sympathy dwell on my care ? 

Does she number the hours of my stay? 
First perish ambition and wealth, 

First perish all else that is dear. 
Ere one sigh should escape her by stealth. 

Ere my absence should cost her one tear. 



I HAD A HORSE, AND I HAD NAB MAIE> 

This story is founded on fact. A John Hunter, ancestor of a 
rery resj^ecta'ole farming family, w!i olive in a place in the parish, 
I think, of Galston, called Bar-mil], was the luckless hero that 
"had a horse and had nae mair." For some httle youthful 
follies he found it necessary to make a retreat to the AVest 
Highlands, where " he feed himself to a Highland laird," for that 
is the expression of all the oral editions of the song I ever heard. 
The present Mr. Hunter, who told me the anecdote, is the great* 
grandchild of our hero. 

I had a horse, and I had nae mair, 

I gat him frae my daddy ; 
My purse was Ught, and heart was sair, 

But my wit it was fu' ready. 
And sae I thought me on a time, 

Outwittens of my daddy, 
To fee mysel' to a Lawland laird, 

Wha had a bonnie lady. 

I wrote a letter, and thus began, - 

" Madam, be not offended, 
1 'm o'er the lugs in love wi' you, 

And care not though ye ken'd it : 



IT 



UP AND WARN A\ WILLIE. 677 

For I get little frae the laird, 

And far less frae my daddy. 
And I would blithely be the man 

Would strive to please my lady.** 

She read my letter, and she leugh, 

" Ye needna been sae blate, man ; 
You might ha'e come to me yoursel'. 

And tauld me o' your state, man : 
You might ha'e come to me yoursel', 

Outwittens o' ony body, 
And made John Gowkston of the laird. 

And kissed his bonnie lady." 

Then she pat siller in my purse, — 

We drank wine in a coggie ; 
She feed a man to rub my horse, 

And wow, but I was vogie ! 
Biit I gat ne'er sae sair a fleg 

Since I came frae my daddy. 
The laird came, rap, rap, to the yett» 

When I was wi' his lady. 

Then she pat me below a chair. 

And happed me wi' a plaidie ; 
But I was like to swarf wi' fear. 

And wished me wi' my daddy. 
The laird went out, he saw na me, 

I went when I was ready ; 
I promised, but I ne'er gaed back 

To kiss my bonnie lady. 



UP Km) WAEN A', WILLIE. 

Testis edition of the song I got from Tom Niel, of facetious 
fame, in Edinburgh. The expression " Up and warn a', Willie," 
alludes to the Crantara, or warning of a Highland clan to arms. 
Not understanding this, the Lowlauders in the west and south 
say, " Up and waur them a'," &c. 



AULD ROB MORRIS. 

It is remarkworthy that the song of " Hooly and Fairly," in 
all the old editions of it, is called " The Drunken Wife o' Gallo> 
way," which localizes it to that county. 



% 



r 

~~ i' 

AULD BOB MORBIS. 



There 's aald Eob Morris, that wins in yon glen, 
He 's the king o' gude fallows, and wale o' auld men. , 
Has fourscore o' black sheep, and fourscore too, 
And auld Eob Morris is the man ye maun loo. 



Hand your tongue, mither, and let that abee. 
For his eild and my eild can never agree ; 
They '11 never agree, and that will be seen, 
For he is fourscore, and I'm but fifteen. 

MITHER. 

Hand your tongue, dochter, and lay by your pride. 
For he 's be the bridegroom, and ye 's be the bride; 
He shall lie by your side, and kiss ye too, 
Auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun loo. 

DOCHTER. 

Auld Rob Morris, I ken him fu' weel ; 

His back sticks out like ony peet-creel; 

He 's out- shinned, in-kneed, and ringle-e'ed too^— ■ 

Auld Rob Morris is the man I '11 ne'er loo. 

MITHER. 

Though auld Rob Morris be an elderly man, 
Yet his old brass it will buy a new pan ; 
Then, dochter, ye should na be sae ill to shoo. 
For auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun loo. 



But auld Bob Morris I never will ha'e. 

His back is sae stiff, and his beard is grown gi'ey; 

I had rather die than live wi' him a year, 

Sae mair of Rob Morris I never will hear. 

The " Drunken Wife o' Galloway " is in another strain : the 
idea is original, and it cannot be denied that the author, who- 
ever he was, has followed up the conception with great spirit 
A few verses will prove this. 

! what had I ado for to marry ? 

My wife she drinks naething but sack and canary ; 

1 to her friends complained right early, 

! gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! 

Hooly and fairly ; hooly and fairly, 

O ! gin my wife wad drink hooly a.nd fairly 1 



"t 



NANCrS GHOST. 579 

First she drank CJrommie, aiid syne she drank Garie, 
Then she has drunken my bonnie grey mearie, 
That carried me through the dulj and the lairie, — 
O ! gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! 

The very grey mittens that gaed on my han's, 

To her ain neibour wife she has laid them in pawns, 

Wi' my bane-headed staff that I lo'ed sae dearly, — 

! gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! 

1 never was given to wrangling nor strife, 
Nor e'er did refuse her the comforts of life; 
E'er it come to a war, I 'm aye for a parley, — 
O ! gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! 

A pint wi' her cummers I wad her allow ; 
But when she sits down she tills hersel' fou ; 
And when she is fou' she 's unco' carastrarie, — 
O ! gin my wife wad drink hooly and feirly ! 

An' when she comes hame, she lays on the lads, 
And ca's a' the lasses baitli limmers and jads, 
And 1 my ain sell an auld cuckold carlie, — 
O ! gin my wife wad drink hooly and I'airly 1 



NANCY'S GHOST. 

Tins song is by Dr. Blacklock. / 

"Ah ! hapless man, thy perjured vow 
Was to thy Nancy's heart a grave ! 
The damps of death bedewed my brow. 
Whilst thou the dying maid could snve!* 

Thus spake the vision, and withdrew ; 

From Sandy's cheiks the crimson Hed; 
Guilt and Despair their arrows threw, 

And now behold the traitor dead ! 

Bemember, swains, my artless strains: 
To plighted faith be ever true; 

And let no injured maid complain 
She finds false Sandy live in you. 



TUNE YOUR FIDDLES, Ac. 

*fw. -H^ng was composed by the Rev. John Skinner, Nonjurof 
eUrgy .V ..n at Linshart, near Peterhead. He is likewise an thoJ 
of "I'liboeligorum," " Ewie wi' the Crooked Horn," " John o' 



580 GIL MomcE. 

Badenyond," &c., and, what is of still more consequence, he ia 
ojie of the worthiest of mankind. He is the author of an eccle- 
siastical history of Scotland. The air is by Mr. Marshall, hiitler 
to the Duke of Gordon, the first composer of strathspeys of the 
age. I have been told by somebody, who had it of Marshall 
himself, that he took the idea of his three most celebrated pieces 
— " The Marquis of Huntley's Eeel," liis " Farewell," and 
" Miss Admiral Gordon's Eeel "—from the old air, " The German 
Lairdie." 

Tune your fiddles, tune them sweetly. 

Play the Marquis' Reel discreetly ; 

Here we ai-e a. band completely 
Fitted to be jolly. 

Come, my boys, be bhthe and gaucie} 

Every youngster choose his lassie; 

Dance wi' hfe, and be not saucy. 
Shy, nor melancholy. 

Lay aside your sour grimaces, 
Clouded brows, and druralie faces; 
Look about and see their graces, 

How they smile delighted. 
Now 's the season to be merry ; 
Hang the thoughts of Charon's ferry I 
Time enough to turn camstrarie 

When we 're old and doited. 



GIL MORICB.' 

This plaintive ballad ought to have been called " Child Maurice," 
and not " Gil Morice." In its present dress it has gained immortal 
honour from Mr. Home's taking from it the groundwork of his 
fine tragedy of Douglas. But I am of opinion that the present 
ballad is a modern composition ; perhaps not much above the 
age of the middle of the last century ; at least I should be glad 
to see or hear of a copy of the present words prior to 1650. 
That it was taken from an old ballad called " Child Maurice," 
now lost, I am inclined to believe ; but the present one may be 
classed with " Hardyknute," " Kenneth," " Duncan, the Laird 
of Woodhouselee," " Lord Livingston," " Binnorie," " The Death 
of Monteith," and many other modern productions, Avhich have 
been swallowed by many readers as ancient fragments of old 

' Mr. Pinkerton remarks that, in many parts of Scotland, ' ' Gril " at 
thisd;iy signifies " Child," as is the case in the Gaelic ; thus " Gilchrist" 
means the "Child of Chri.st." "C!iild"was the ciLstomnry appellation 
of a young nobleman, when about fifteen years of age. 



WEEN I UPON THY BOBOM LEAN. 581 

poems. This beautiful plaintive tune was composed by Mr. 
M'Gibbon, tbe selector of a Collection of Scots tunes. 

In addition to the observations on " Gil Morice," I add that, of 
the songs which Gapt. Eiddel mentions, " Kenneth" and Dun- 
can" are juvenile compositions of Mr. M'Kenzie, " The Man of 
Feeling." M'Kenzie's father showed them in MS. to Dr. 
Blacklock, as the productions of his son, from which the Doctor 
rightly prognosticated that the young poet would make, in his 
more advanced years, a respectable figure ia the world of letters. 

This I had from Blacklock. 



WHEN I UPON THY BOSOM LEAN. 

This song was the work of a very worthy facetious old fellow, 
John Lapraik, late of Dalfram, near Muirkirk, which little pro- 
perty he was obliged to sell in consequence of some connection 
as security for some persons concerned in that villanons bubble, 
the Ayr Bank. He has often told me that he composed this 
song one day when his wife had been fretting over their mis- 
fortunes. 

[Bums thus alludes to this song in his Epistle to Lapraik] : — 

There was ae sang amang the rest, 
Aboon them a' it pleased me best. 
That some kind husband had addrest 

To some sweet wife : 
It thi-illed the heart-f^tring through the breast, 

A' to the lif3. 

WHEN I UPON THY BOSOM LEAN- 

When I upon thy bosom lean. 
And fondly clasp thee a' my ain, 

I glory in the sacred ties 

That made us ane wha ance were twaia : 

A mutual flame insi)ires us baith, 
The tender look, the melting kiss : 

Even years shall ne'er destroy our love. 
But only gi'e us change o' bliss. 

Had I a wish ? — it 's a' for thee ; 

I ken thy wish is me to please : 
Our moments pass sae smooth away, 

That nnml^ers on us look and gaze. 
Well pleased, they see < ir happy days. 

Nor Envy's sel' find aught to blame ; 
And aye when weary cares arise. 

Thy bosom still shall be my hame. 



582 THE HIGHLAND CHARACTER. 

I '11 lay me there, and take my rest, 

And if that aught disturb my dear, 
T '11 bid her langh her cai'es away, 

And beg her not to drap a tear : 
Ha'e I a joy ? — it 's a' her ain ; 

United still her heart and mine ; 
They 're like the woodbine round the tree, 

That 's twined till death shall them disjoin. 



THE HIGHLAND CHARACTER. 

OR, GARB OF OLD GAUL. 

TiTi ■ tune was the composition of General Eeid, and called by 
him " The Highland, or 42nd Regiment's March." The words 
are by Sir Hairy Erskine. 

Tn the garb of old Gaul, with the fire of old Rome, 
From the heath-covered mountains of Scotia we come. 
Where the Romans endeavoured our country to gain; 
But our ancestors fought, and they fought not in vaia.' 

No effeminate customs our sinews unbrace, 

No luxurious tables enervate our race; 

Our loud-sounding pipe bears the true martial strain. 

So do we the old Scottish valour retain. 

We 're tall as the oak on the mount of the vale. 
As swift as the roe which the hound doth assail ; 
As the full moon in autumn our shields do appear,— 
Minerva would dread to encounter our spear. 

As a storm in the ocean when Boreas blows, 
So are we enraged when we rush on our foes : 
W^e sons of the mountains, tremendous as rocks, 
Dash the force of our foes with our thundering strokes. 



LEADER-HAUGHS AND YARROW. 

'-*E is in several collections the old song of " Leader-Haugha 
Xi^ arrow." It seems to have been the work of one of our 
itint^.tut minstrels, as he calls himself, at the conclusion of hia 
iong, "Minstrel Burn."' 

When Phcjobus bright the azure skies 

With golden rays enlight'neth, 
He makes all Nature's beauties rise. 

Herbs, trees, and flowers he quick'nethj 

' Nicol Bum, one of the old Border minstrels. 






r 



LEADER- HAUGHS AND YARROW. 683 

Amongst all those he makes his choice, 

And v/ith dehght goes thorow, 
With radiant beams and silver streams 

O'er Leader-Haughs and Yarrow. 

When Aries the day and night 

In equal length divideth, 
Anid frosty Saturn takes his flight, 

l^ae langer he abideth ; 
Then Flora Queen, v/ith mantle green. 

Casts afF lier former sorrow. 
And vows to dwell with Ceres' sel'. 

In Leader-Haughs and Yarrow. 

Pan, playing on his aiten reed, 

And siiepTierds him attending, 
Do here resort their flocks to feed. 

The hills and haughs commending. 
With cur and kent upon the bent. 

Sing to the sun, guid-morrow. 
And swear nae fields mair pleasure yields 

Than Leader-Haughs and Yarrow. 

A house there stands on Leaderside,' 

Surmounting my descriving. 
With rooms sae rave, and windows fair. 

Like Dedalus' contriving; 
Men passing by, do aiten cry, 

lu sooth it hath nae marrow ; 
It stands as sweet on Leaderside, 

As Newark does on Yarrow. 

A mile below wha lists to ride, 

They '11 hear the mavis singing; 
Into St. Leonard's banks she '11 bide. 

Sweet birks her head o'erhmging ; 
The liutwliite loud and Progne proud. 

With tuneful throats and narrow, 
Into St. Leonard's banks they sing 

As sweetly as in Yarrow. 

The lapwing lilteth o'er the lea, 

With nimble wing she sporteth; 
But vows she '11 flee far frae the tree 

Where Piiilomel resortetli : 
By break of day the lark can say, 

1 '11 bid you a good-morrow, 
I '11 streek my wing, and, mounting, sing 

O'er Leader-Haughs and Yarrow. 

* Thirlstane Castle, an ancient seat of the Earl of LauderJale. 



584 LEADER-HAUOHS AND YARROW. 

Park, "Wanton-waws, and Wooden-cleugh, 

The East and Western Mainses, 
The wood of" Lauder *s fair enough, 

The corns are good in Blainshes ; . 
Where aits are fine, and sold by kind. 

That if ye search all thorow 
Mearns, Buchan, Mar, nane better are 

Than Leader-Haughs and Yarrow. 

In Burmill Bog, and Whites! ade Shaws, 

The fearful hare she haunteth ; 
Brig-haugh and Braidwoodshiel she knaws. 

And Chapel-wood frequenteth ; 
Yet when she irks, to Kaidsly birks 

She rins, and sighs for sorrow, 
That she should leave sweet Leader-Haugha, 

And cannot win to Yarrow. 

What sweeter music wad ye hear 

Than hounds and beagles crying ? 
The started hare rins hard with fear. 

Upon her speed relying : 
But yet her strength it fails at length, 

ISTae bielding can she burrow. 
In Sorrel's field, Cleckman, or Hag's, 

And sighs to be in Yarrow. 

For Kockwood, Ringwood, Spoty, Shag, 

With sight and scent pursue her. 
Till, ah ! her pith begins to flag, 

Nae cunning can rescue her : 
O'er dub and dyke, o'er seugh and syke^ 

She 'II rin the fields all thorow, 
Till failed, she fa's in Leader-Haughs, 

And bids farewell to Yarrow. 

Sing Ershngton and Cowdenknows, 

Where Homes had ance commanding : 
And Di-ygrange with the milk-white ewes, 

'Twixt Tweed and Leader standing ; 
The birds that flee thro' Reedpath trees, 

And GleJswood banks ilk morrow. 
May chant and sing — Sweet Leader-Haughab 

And bonnie holms of Yarrow. 

But Minstrel Bum cannot assuag 
His grief, while life endureth, 

To see t4ie changes of this age 
That fleeting time procureth: 



THIS IS NO MY AIN HOUSE. 585 

For mony a place stands in hard case. 

Where blithe folk kend nae sorrow. 
With Homes that dwelt on Leaderside, 

And Scots that dwelt on Yarrow. 



THIS IS NO MY AIN HOUSE. 

The first half-stanza is old, the rest is Ramsay's. The old 
words are — 

O, this is no my ain house. 
My ain honse, my ain house ; 
This is no my ain house, 
I ken by the biggin' o't. 

Bread and cheese are my door-cheeks. 
My door-cheeks, my door-cheeks ; 
Bread and cheese are my door-cheeka. 
And pancakes the riggin' o'\ 

This is no my ain wean. 

My ain wean, my ain wear 

This is no my ain wean, 

I ken by the greetie o't. 

I 'U tak' the curchie aff my head, 

AfF my head, aff my head ; 

I '11 tak' the curchie aff my head. 

And row 't about the feetie o 't. 

The tune is an old Highland sdr called " Shuan trulsh 
willighan." 



LADDIE, LIE NEAR ME. 

This song is by Dr. Blacklock. 

Hark ! the loud tempest shakes the earth to its centre ! 
How mad were the task on a journey to venture ! 
How dismal 's my prospect ! of hfe I am weary : 
O, listen, my love ! I beseech thee to hear me. 

Hear me, hear me, in tenderness hear me ; 

All the long winter night, laddie, he near me. 

Nights though protracted, though piercing the wealheTj 
Yet summer was endless when we were together ; 
Now since thy absence I feel most severely 
Joy is extinguished and being is dreary, — 

Dreary, dreary, painful and dreary ; 

All the long winter night, laddie, lie near me. 



Jl 



^ 



686 

THE GABERLIIN'ZIE MAK' 

The " Gaberlunzie Man " is supposed to commemorate an 
intrigne of James V. Mr. Calkncler, of Craiglbrtli, publish ■'d, 
some years ago, an edition of " Christ's Kirk on the Green," 
and the " Gaberlunzie Man," with notes critical and historical. 
James V. is said to Lave been fond of Goslbixl, in Aberlady 
parish, and that it was suspected by his contemporaries that, 
in his frequent excursions to that part of the country, he had 
other purposes in view besides golfing and archery. Three 
favourite ladies, Sandilands, Weir, and Oliphant (one of them 
resided at Gosford, ai:d the others in the neighbourhood) were 
occasionally visited liy their royal and gallant admirer, which 
gave rise to the following satirical advice to his Majesty, from 
Sir David Lindsay, of the Mount, Lord Lyon.^ 

Sow not yere seeds on Sandilands, 
Spend not yere strength in Weir, 

And ride not on yere Oliphants, 
For gawing o' yere gear. 

The pawky auld carle came o'er the lea,* 
Wi' many good e'ens and days to mo, 
Saying, Guidwife, for your courtesie, 

Will ye lodge a silly poor man ? 
The night was caukl, the carle was wat. 
And down ayont the ingle he sat : 
My daughter's shoulders he 'gan to clap» 

And cadgily ranted and sang. 

wow ! quo' he, were I as free, 
As first when I saw this countrie. 
How blithe and merry wad I be ! 

And I wad never think lang. 
He grew canty,'' and she grew fain ;* 
But little did hei' auld minny ken 
What thir slee twa together were say'n*. 

When wooing they were sae thrang. 

And ! quo' he, and ye were as black 
As e'er the crown of my daddy's hat, 
'Tis I vvad lay thee on my back. 

And awa' wi' me thou should gang. 
And ! quo' sbe, aa' I were as white. 
As e'er the snaw lay on the dike, 

1 'd deed me braw and lady-like. 
And awa' with thee I 'd gang. 

' A vallet-inan, or tinker, who appears to have been formerly a jack* 
of -all-trades. 

" Sir David was Lion King-at-Arms under James V. 

' CJomposed by James V. of i^ ^ Merry. * Glad. 



Jl "^ ll_^. 



THE OABEllLVNZIE MAN. C87 

Between the twa was made a plot; 
Tliey raise awee before the cock, 
And wilily they shot the lock, 

And fast to the bent are they gane. 
Up in the morn the anld wife raise, 
And at her leisure put on her claise; 
Syne to the servant's bed she gaes. 

To speer for the silly poor man. 

She gaed to the bed where the beggar lay, , 

The strae was caukl, he was away. 
She clapt her hand, cried, Dulefu' day ! 

For some of our gear will be gane. 
Some ran to coffer, atid some to kist, 
But naught was stowu that conld be mist ; 
She danced her lane, cried. Praise be blest ! 

I have lodged a leal poor man. 

Since naething 's awa', as we can learn, 

The kirn 's to kirn and milk to earn ; 

Gae but the house, lass, and wauken my bairn. 

And bid her come quickly ben. 
The servant gaed where the daughter laj', 
The sheets were cauld, she was away ; 
And fast to her guidwife did say, 

She's aff with the Gaberlunzie man. 

O fye ! gar ride, and fye ! gar rin. 
And haste ye find these traitors again ; 
For slie's be burnt, and he's be slain. 

The wearifu' Gaberlunzie man. 
Some rade upo' horse, some ran afoot. 
The wife was wud, and out o' her wit ; 
She could na gang, nor yet could she sit, 

But aye did curse and did ban. 

Meantime far hind out o'er the lea, 

Fu' snug in a glen where nane could see, 

The twa, with kindly sport and glee, 

Cut frae a new cheese a wang. 
The priving was good, it pleased them baith; 
To lo'e for aye, he gae her his aith : 
Quo' she. To leave thee I will be laith, 

My winsome Gaberlunzie man. 

O, kenned my minnie I were wi' you, 
lU-fardly wad she crook her mou' ; 
Sic a poor man she 'd never trow, 
After the Gaberlunzie man. 



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688 THE BLACK EAGLE. 

My dear, quo' he, ye 're yet o'er young, 
And ha' nae learned the beggar's tongue, 
Q^o follow mo frae town to town, 
And carry the gaberlunzie on. 

Wi' cauk and keel I '11 mn jowv bread, 

And spindles and whorles for them wha need; 

Whilk is a gentle trade indeed, 

To carry the gaberlunzie on. 
I '11 bow my leg, and crook my knee, 
And draw a black clout o'er my e'e; 
A cripple, or blind, they will ca' me, 

WMle we shall be merry and sing. 



THE BLACK EAGLE. 

This song is by Dr. Fordyce, whose merits as a prose writes 
are well known. 

Hark ! yonder eagle lonely wails ; 
His faithful bosom grief assails ; 
Last night I heard him in my dream, 
When death and woe were all the theme. 
Like that poor bii-d, I make my moan, 
I grieve for dearest Delia gone ; 
With him to gloomy rocks I fly, 
He mourns for love, and so do I. 

*Twas mighty love that tamed his breast, 
Tis tender grief that breaks his rest ; 
He droops his wings, he hangs his head. 
Since she he fondly loved was dead. 
With Delia's breath my joy expired ; 
Twas Delia's smiles my fancy fired ; 
Like that poor bird, I pine, and prove 
Naught can supply the jjlace of love. 

Dark as his feathers was the fate 
That robbed him of his darling mate; 
Dimmed is the lustre of his eye. 
That wont to gaze the sun-bright sky. 
To him is now for ever lost 
The heart-felt bliss he once could boas* • 
Thy sorrows, hapless bird, display 
An image of my soul's dismay. 



589 

JOHNNIE COPE. 

Tins satirical song was composed to commemorate General 
Cope's defeat at Preston Pans, in 1745, when he marched 
against the Clans. 

The air was the tune of an old song, of which I have heard 
some vdrses, but now only remember the title, which was, 

" Will ye go the coals in the morning ? " 

Cope sent a challenge frae Dunbar— 
Charlie, meet me, an ye daur. 
And I '11 learn you the art of war, 
If you'll meet me in the morning. 

CHORUS. 

Hey, Johnnie Cope, are ye wating yetP 
Or are your drums a-beating yet ? 
If ye were waking I would wait 

To gang to the coals i' the morning. 

When Charlie looked the letter upon, 
He drew his sword the scabbard from, — 
Come, follow me, my merry, merry men, 
To meet Johnnie Cope i' the morning. 

Now, Johnnie Cope, be as good 's your word. 
And try our fate m' fire and sword, 
And dinna tak' wing hke a frightened bird. 
That 's chased frae its nest i' the morning. 

When Johnnie Cope he heard of this. 
He thought it wadna be amiss 
To ha'e a horse in readiness 
To flee awa' i' the morning. 

Fye, Johnnie, now get up and rin, 
The Highland bagpipes make a din, 
It 's best to sleep in a hale skin. 
For 'twill be a bludie morning. 

Yon 's no the tuck o' England's drum. 
But it's the war-pipes' deadly strum; 
And poues the claymore and the gun— - 
It will be a bludie morning. 

When Johnnie Cope to Dunbar came, 
They spiered at him, " Where 's a' your menP* 
•* The de'il confound me gin I ken, 
For I left them a' i' the morning." 



irJ 



690 CEASE, MY DEAR FRIEND, TO EXPLORE. 

ISfow, Johnnie, troutli ye was na blate, 
To come wi' the news o' youi- ain defeat* 
And leave your men in sic a strait, 
Sae early in the morning. 

Ah, faith ! quo' Johnnie, I got a fleg. 
With their claymores and philabeg ; 
If I face tliem again, de'il break my leg, — 
Sae I wish you a good morning. 

Hey Johnnie Cope, are ye waking yetP 
Or are your drums a-beating yet ? 
If ye were waking I would wait 
To gang to the coals i' the morning. 



CEASE, CEASE, MY DEAR EEIEND, TO EXPLOEB. 

The song is by Dr. Blacklock, I believe; but I am not quite 
certain that the air is his too. 

Cease, cease, my dear friend, to explore 

From whence and how piercing my smart; 
Let the charms of the nymjDh I adore 

Excuse and interpret my heart. 
Then how much I admire ye shall prove. 

When like me ye are taught to admire. 
And imagine how boundless my love, 

When you number the charms that inspire. 

Than sunshine more dear to my sight, 

Tj my life more essential than air; 
To my soul she is perfect delight. 

To ray sense all that's pleasing and fair. 
The swains, who her beauty behold. 

With transport applaud every charm. 
And swear that the breast must be cold 

Which a beam so intense cannot warm. 

Does my boldness oiFend my dear maid P 

Is my fondness loquacious and free ? 
Are my visits too frequently paid ? 

Or my converse unworthy of thee ? 
Yet when grief was too big for my breast» 

And laboured in sighs to complain. 
Its struggles I oft have supprest, 

And silence imposed on my pain. 



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AULD BOBIN GRAY. 691 

Ah, Strephon, how vain thy desire ! 

Thy numbers and music how vain I 
"While merit and fortune conspire 

The smiles ot the nymph to obtain. 
Yet cease to upbraid the soft choice, 

Though it ne'er should determine for theej 
If my heart iu her joy may rejoice, 

Unhappy thou never canst be. 



AULD ROBIN GRAY. 

This air was formerly called " The bridegroom greets when 
the sun gangs down." The words are by Lady Ann Lindsay, 
of the Balcarras family. 

When the sheep are in the fauld, and a' the kye at hame, 
And a' the weary warld to sleep are gane : 
The waes of my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e. 
When my guidman sleeps sound by me. 

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and he sought me for his bride, 
But saving a crown he had naething else beaide ; 
To make that crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to sea, 
And the crown and the pound were baith for me. 

He hadna been gane a year and a day. 
When my father brak his arm, and my Jamie at the sea, 
My mither she fell sick, and our cow was stown away ; 
And auld Robin Gray came a courting to me. 

My father couldna work, and ray mither couldna spiu 
I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna win-, 
Auld Rob maintained them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e, 
Said, " Jenny, for their sakes, 0, marry me." 

M}^ heart it said nae, for I looked for Jamie back, 
But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack ; 
The ship it was a wrack, Avhy didna Jenny die? 
And why do I live to say, Wae 's me 1 

My father argued sair, though my mither didna speak. 
She lookit in my face till my heart was like to break ; 
Sae they gi"ed him my hand, though my heart was in the sea, 
And auld Robin Gray is guidman to me. 

I hadna been a wife a week but only four, 
When, sitting sae moiirnfully at the door, 
I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he, 
'Till he said. " I 'm come back for to marry thee." 



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692 DONALD AND FLOBA. 

O, sair did we greet, and mickle did we say, 
We took but ae kiss, and we tore ourselves away : 
I wish I were dead ! but I 'm no like to die, 
And why do I hve to say, Wae 's me ! 

I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin, 
I darena think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin ; 
Bat I '11 do my best a guidwife to be, 
For auld Robin Gray is kind unto me. 



DONALD AND FLORA.' 

This is one of those fine Gaelic tunes, preserved from time 
immemorial in the Hebrides ; they seem to be the groundwork 
of many of our finest Scots pastoral tunes. The words of thia 
song were written to commemorate the unfortunate expedition 
of General Burgoyne in America, in 1777. 

When merry hearts were gay. 
Careless of aught but play 
Poor Flora slipt away, 

Sadd'ning, to Mora ; * 
Loose flowed her coal black hair. 
Quick heaved her bosom bare, 
As thus to the troubled air 

She vented her sorrow : — 

•* Loud howls the northern blast. 
Bleak is the dreaiy waste ; 
Haste thee, O Donald, haste. 

Haste to thy Flora ! 
Twice twelve long months are o'er 
Since, on a foreign shore, 
You promised to fight no more. 

But meet me in Mora. 

** ' Where now is Donald dear ? ' 
Maids cry with taunting sneer; 
• Say, is he still sincere 
To his loved Flora ? * 
Parents upbraid my moan. 
Each heart is turned to stone ; 
Ah ! Flora, thou 'rt now alone. 
Friendless in Mora ! 

' Composed by Hector McNiel. Donald was Captain Stewart, who fell 
•t Saratoga. Flora, his betrothed wife, a lady of AtLole. 
■■' A small valley in Athole. 



r 



DONALD AND FLORA. 693 

•• Come, then, come away 1 
Donald, no longer stay ! 
W here can my rover stray 

From his loved Flora ? 
Ah ! sure he ne'er can be 
False to his vows and me — 
O Heaven ! is not yonder he 

Bounding o'er Mora ? " 

•* * !N"ever — ah ! wretched fair ! * 

(Sighed the sad messenger,) 
•Never shall Donald mair 

Mest his loved Flora ! 
Cold, cold, beyond the main, 
Donald, thy love, lies slain : 
He sent me to soothe thy pain. 

Weeping in Mora. 

* * "Well fought our gallant men. 

Headed by brave Burgoyne, 
Our heroes were thi-ice led on 

To British glory ; 
But ah ! though our foes did flefl^ 
Sad was the loss to thee. 
While every fresh victory 

Drowned ns in sorrow. 

• * Here, take this trusty blade, 

(Donald expiring said,) 
• Give it to yon dear maid. 
Weeping in Mora. 
Tell her, 6 Allan ! tell, 
Donald thus bravely fell, 
And that in his last farewell 
He thought on his Flora.' " 

Mute stood the trembling fair. 
Speechless with wild despair ; 
Then, striking her bosom bare. 

Sighed out, ' Poor Flora ! 
O Donald ! oh, well-a-day ! ' 
Was all the fond heart could say* 
At length the sound died awuj, 

Feebly, in Mora. 



^ 



% 



694 

THE CAPTIVE RIBA:CTD. 
This air is called " Robie donna Goracli." 

Dear Myra, the captive riband 's mine, 
'Twas all my faithful love could gain ; 

And would you ask me to resign 

The sole reward that crowns my pain P 

Go, bid the hero who has run 

Through fields of death to gather fame. 
Go, bid him lay his laurels down, 

And all his well-earned praise disclaim. 

The riband shall its freedom lose. 
Lose all the bliss it had with you. 

And share the late I would impose 
On thee, wert thou my captive too. 

It shall upon my bosom live. 
Or clasp me in a close embrace; 

And at its fortune if you grieve, 

Retrieve its doom, and take its place. 



THE BEIDAL O'T. 

This song is the work of a Mr. Alexander Ross, late school- 
master at Lochlee, and aiithor of a beautiful Scots voem, 
called " The Fortunate Shepherdess." 

They say that Jockey '11 speed weel o't, 
They say that Jockey '11 speed weel o't» 

For he grows brawer ilka day — 
I hope we '11 ha'e a bridal o't : 

For yesternight, nae faxdev gane, 
^ The backhouse at the sidi^ wa' o't, 

He there wi' Meg was mirdcn seen — • 
I hope we '11 ha'e a bridal o't. 

An we had but a bridal o't, 

An we had but a bridal o't. 
We 'd leave the rest unto guid-luck. 

Although there should betide iU o't : 
For bridal days are merry times, 

And young folks like the coming o't, 
And scribblers they bang up their rhymea. 

And pipers they the bumming o't. 



TODLEN HAME. 535 

The lasses like a bridal o't, 

The lasses like a bridal o't, 
Their bravvs manii be in rank and file, 

Althoiigli that they should guide ill o't; 
The boddom o' the kist is then 

Turned up unto tlie inmost o't, 
The end that held the kecks sae clean 

Is now become the teemest o't. 

The bangster at the threshing o't. 

The bangster at the threshing o't» 
Afoi'e it comes is fidgin' fain, 

And ilka day's a-clashing o't: 
Ee '11 sell his jerkin for a groat. 

His linder for anither o't. 
And ere he want to clear his shott 

His sark '11 pay the tither o't. 

The pipers and the fiddlers o't, 

The pipers and the fiddlers o't, 
Can smell a bndal unco' fai', 

And like to be the middlers o't; 
Fan ' thick and threefold they conveilf^ 

Ilk ane envies the tither o't, 
And wishes nane but him alane 

May ever see anither o't. 

Fan than ha'e done wi' eating o't. 

Fan they ha'e done wi' eating o't. 
For dancing they gae to the green, 

And aiblins to the beating o't : 
Ee dances best that dances fast. 

And lonps at ilka reesing o't. 
And claps his hands frae hough to hough, 

And furls about the feezings o't. 



TODLEN HAME.2 

This is perhaps the first bottle-song that ever was composed 
The author's name is unknown. 

When I 've a saxpence under my thumb. 

Then I '11 get credit in ilka town ; 

But aye when I 'm poor they bid me gae by ; 
. ! poverty parts good company. 
Todlen hame, todlen hame, 
Coudua my love come todlen hame P 

' Fan, when — (the dialect of Augus). 

* This song exists iu Gloucestershire, as an old and poi^ulav ballad, in 
the patok of the county. 



696 THE SHEPHERD'S PREFERENCE, 

Pair fa' the guidwife, and send her good sale, 
She gi'es us white bannocks to drink her ale. 
Syne if her tippeny chance to be sma', 
We '11 tak' a good scour o't, and ca't awa'. 
Todlen hame, todlen hame, 
As round as a neep come todlen hame. 

My kimmer and I lay down to sleep, 

And twa pint-stoups at our bed- feet ; 

And aye when we wakened we drank them dry: 

What think ye of my wee kimmer and I ? 
Todlen but, and todlen ben, 
Sae round as my love comes todlen hame. 

Leeze me on liquor, my todlen dow. 

Ye 're aye sae good-humoured when weeting your mon'; 

When sober sae sour, ye '11 fight wi' a flea. 

That 'tis a blithe sight to the bairns and me. 
When todlen hame, todlen hame. 
When round as a neep ye come todlen hame. 



THE SHEPHERD'S PREFERENCE. 

This song is Dr. Blacklock's. I don't know how it came by 
the name, but the oldest appellation of the air was, " Whistle 
and I '11 come to you, my lad." 

It has little affinity to the tune commonly known by that 
name. 

In May, when the daisies appear on the green. 
And flowers in the field and the forest are seen ; 
Where lilies bloomed bonnie, and hawthorns up-sprung, 
A pensive young shepherd oft whistled and sung ; 
But neither the shades nor the sweets of the flowers, 
Nor the blackbirds that warbled in blossoming bowers, 
Could brighten his eye or his ear entertain, 
For love was his pleasure, and love was his pain. 

The shepherd thus sung, while his flocks all around 
Drew nearer and nearer and sighed to the sound ; 
Around as in chains lay the beasts of the wood. 
With pity disarmed and with music subdued : — 
Young Jessy is fair as the Spring's early flower. 
And Mary sings sweet as the bird in her bower; 
But Peggy is fairer and sweeter than they. 
With looks like the morning — with smiles like the day. 



3 



607 



JOHN O' BADENYOND. 

This excellent song is the composition of my worthy friend, 
tjld Skinner, at Linshart. 

When first I cam' to be a man 

Of twenty years or so, 
I thought myself a handsome youth. 

And fain the world would know ; 
In best attire 1 stepped abroad, 

With spirits brisk and gay, 
And here, and there, and everywhere 

Was Hke a morn in May. 
No care had I, nor fear of want. 

But rambled up and down, 
And for a beau I might have passed 

In country or in town ; 
I still was pleased where'er I went, 

And when I was alone, 
I tuned my pipe, and pleased myself 

Wi' John o' Badenyon'. 

Now in the days of youthful prime, 

A mistress I must find. 
For love, they say, gives one an air. 

And ev'n improves the mind : 
On PhiUis fan-, above the rest. 

Kind fortune fixed my eyes ; 
Her piercing beauty struck my heart. 

And she became my choice. 
To Cupid then, with hearty prayer, 

I ofi'ered many a vow ; 
And danced and sang, and sighed and swore 

As other lovers do : 
But when at last I breathed my flame, 

I found her cold as stone ; 
I left the jilt, and tuned my pipe 

To John o' Badenyon'. 

When love had thus my heart beguiled 

With fooHsh hopes and vain ; 
To friendship's port I steered my course. 

And laughed at lovers' pain ; 
A friend I got by lucky chance, 

'Twas something like divine,— 
An honest friend's a precious gift. 

And such a gift was mine : 



C 



698 A WAUEIilFE MINNIE. 

And now, whatever might betide^ 

A ha^Dpy man was I, 
In any strait I knew to whom 

I freely might apply : 
A sti"iit soon came, my friend I tried; 

He heard and spurned my moan; 
I hied me home, and pleased myself 

With John o' Badenyon'. 

I thought I should be wiser next. 

And would a patriot turn, 
Began to doat on Johnny Wilkes, 

And cry np Parson Home. 
Their manly spirit I admired. 

And praised their noble zeal, 
Who had with llaming tongue and pen 

Maintained the public weal; 
But e'er a month or two had past, 

I found myself betrayed, 
Twas self and party, after all, 
■ For all the stir they made : 
At last I saw these factious knaves 

Insnlt the very throne ; 
I cursed them a', and tuned my pipe 

To John o' Badenyon'. 

And now, ye youngsters, everywhere. 

Who want to make a show, 
Take heed in time, nor vainly hope 

For happiness below ; 
What you may fancy pleasure here 

Is but an empty name, 
For girls and friends, and books and 80^ 

You '11 find them all the same. 
Then be advised, and warning take 

From such a man as me, 
I 'm neither pope nor cardinal, 

JSTor one of high degree : 
You '11 find displeasure everywhere; 

Then do as I have done — 
E'en tune your pipe, and please yourself 

With John o' Badenyon'. 



A WAUKRIFE MINNIE.' 

I PICKED up this old song and tune from a country girl in 
Nithsdale. I never met with it elsewhere in Scotland: — 

' A watchful mother. > 



TULLOCHOORUM. 699 

Whare are you gaun, my bonnie lasaP 
Whare are you gaun, my hinnie? 

Slie answered me right saucilie — 
An errand for my minnie. 

O, whare live ye, my bonnie lass ? 
\ 0, where live ye, my hinnie ? 

By yon burn-side, gin ye maun ken. 
In a wee house wi' my minnie. 

But I foor up the glen at e'en, 

To see my bonnie lassie; 
And lang before the grey morn cam* 

She was na hauf sae saucie. 

O, weary fa' the waukrife cock, 
And the foumart lay his ci-awin*! 

He waukened the auld wife frae her sleeps 
A wee blink or the dawm. 

An angry wife I wat she raise, 
And o'er the bed she brought her; 

And with a mickle hazel rung 

She made her a weel-payed dochter, 

O, fare thee weel, my bonnie lass, 

0, fare thee weel, my hinnie ! 
Thou art a gay and a bonnie lass, 

But thou hast a waukrife minnie. 

The Editor thinks it respectful to the Poet to preserve the 
verses he thus recovered — E.. B. 



TULLOCHGOEUM. 

Tins first of songs is the masterpiece of my old friend Skin- 
ner. He was passing the day at the town of Cullen, I think it 
was, in a friend's house, whose name was Montgomery. Mrs. 
Montgomery observing, en passant, that the beautiful reel of 
" TuUochgorum " wanted words, she begged them of Mr. 
Skinner, who gratified her wishes, an(!l the wishes of every 
lover of Scottish song, in this most excellent ballad. 

These particulars I had from the author's sou, Bishop Skin- 
ner, at Aberdeen. 

Come, gi'e 's a sang, Montgomery cried, 
And lay your disputes all aside ; 
What signifies"? 't for folks to chide 

For what was done before them P 



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BOO TULLOCHGORUM, 

Let Whig and Tory all agree, 

Whig and Tory, "Whig and Tory, 
Whig and Tory all agree 

To drop their vvhig-mig-mornm. 
Let Whig and Tory all agree 
To spend the night in mirth and glee. 
And cheerful sing, alang wi' me, 
The Reel o' Tullochgorum. 

O, Tullochgorum 's my delight^ 

It gars us a' in ane unite ; 

And ony sumph that keeps up spite. 

In conscience I abhor him. 
For blithe and cheerie we '11 be a', 

BUthe and cheerie, blithe and clieeriay 
Blithe and cheerie we '11 be a'. 

And mak' a happy quorum. 
For blithe and cheerie we '11 be a', 
As lang as we ha'e breath to draw, 
And dance, till we be like to fa'. 

The Reel o' Tullochgorvim. 

What need there be sae great a fraisa^ 
Wi' dringing dull Italian lays? 
I wadna gi'e our ain strathspeys 

For half a hunder score o' 'em. 
They 're dowf and dowie at the best, 
Dowf and dowie, dowf and dowie^ 
Dowf and dowie at the best, 
Wi' a' their variorum. 
They 're dowf and dowie at the best, 
Their allegros and a' the rest, — 
They canna please a Scottish taste. 
Compared wi' Tullochgorum. 

Let warldly worms their minds oppress 
Wi' fears o' want and double cess, 
And sullen sots themsel's distress 

Wi' keeping up decorum : 
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit. 

Sour and sulky, sour and sulky. 
Sour and sulky shall we sit 

Like old philosophorum ? 
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit, 
Wi' neither sense, nor mirth, nor wit, 
Nor ever try to shake a fit 

To the Reel o' Tullochgorum? 



THE EWIE Wr THE ChOOKIT HORN. 601 

May cTioicest blessings e'er attend 
Each honest, open-hearted friend, 
And calm and quiet be his end, 

And all that 's good watch o'er himi 
May peace and plenty be his lot ! 

Peace and plenty, peace and plenty, 
Peace and plenty be his lot, 

And dainties a great store o' 'em 1 
May peace and plenty be his lot. 
Unstained by any vicious spot, 
And may he never want a groat, 

That 's fond o' Tnllochgoruml 

Bnt for the snllen frampish fool. 
That loves to be oppression's tool. 
May envy gnaw his rotten sonl, 

And discontent devour him ! 
May dool and «oitow be his chance, 
Dool and sorrow, dool and sorrow, 
Dool and soitow be his chance. 

And nane say, Wae's me for him I 
May dool and sorrow be his chance, 
Wi' a' the ills that come frae France, 
Wliae'er he be that winna dance 

The Reel o' Tullochgorum! 



THE EWIE wr THE CROOKIT HORK. 

Another excellent song of old Skinner's. 

O, were I able to rehearse 

My Ewie's praise in proper verse, 

I 'd sound it out as loud and fierce 

As ever piper's drone could blaw. 
The Ewie wi' the crookit horn, 
Weel deserved baith garse and corn; 
Sic a Ewie ne'er was born 

Hereabout, nor far awa'. 
Sic a Ewie ne'er was born 

Hereabout, nor far awa*. 

I never needed tar nor keil 
To mark her upo' bip or heel; 
Her crookit horn did just as weel 
To ken her by amo' them a'« 



60£ 



THE EWIE Wr THli CROOKIT HORN. 



She never threatened scab nor rot, 
But keepit aye her ain jog trot, 
Baith to the fauld and to the cot. 

Was never sweir to ]ead nor ca'. 
Baith to the fauld and to the cot, 

Was never sweir to lead nor ca'. 

Canld nor hunger never dang her. 
Wind nor rain could never wrang her; 
Ance she lay an ouk ' and langer 

Out aneath a wreath o' snaw. 
When ither Ewies lap the dyke, 
And ate the kail for a' the tyke, 
My Ewie never played the like. 

But tyced about the barn-yard wa'; 
My Ewie never played the like, 

But tyced about the barn-yard wa*. 

A better nor a thriftier beast 

Nae honest man could weel ha'e wist: 

Puir silly thing, she never missed 

To ha'e ilk year a lamb or twa. 
The first she had I ga'e to Jock, 
To be to him a kind of stock. 
And now the laddie has a flock 

Of mair nor thirty head to ca* ; 
And now the laddie has a flock 

Of malr nor thirty head to ca'. 

The neist T ga'e to Jean ; and now 
The bairn's sae braw, has fauld sae fu'. 
That lads sae thick come here to woo. 

They 're fain to sleep on hay or stra,v»:, 
I lookit aye at ev'n for her. 
For fear the foumart'^ might devour her. 
Or some mi!^■chanter had come o'er her, 

Gin the beastie bade awa' ; 
Or some mischanter had come o'er her. 

Gin the beastie bade awa. 

Yet last ouk, for a' my keeping, 
(Wha can speak it witliout weeping ?) 
A villain cam' when I was sleeping. 
And sta' my Ewie, horn and a' ; 



Slight. 



Poleoat. 



HVGEIE GRAHAM. 603 

I sought her sair upo' the morn, 
And down aneath a biisso' thorn 
I got my Ewie's crook it horn, 

But ah, my Ewie was awa'; 
I got my Ewie's crookit horn, 

But ah, my Ewie was awa'. 

O ! gin I had the loun that did it, 
Sworn I have as weel as said it. 
Though a' the warld should forbid it, 

I wad gi'e his neck a thra' : 
X never met wi' sic a turn 
As this sin' ever I was born, 
My Ewie wi' the crookit horn, 

Puir sillie Ewie, stown awa' ; 
My Ewie wi ' the crookit horn, 

Puir silly Ewie, stown awa'. 



HUGHIE GRAHAM. 

There are several editions of this ballad. This, here inserted, 
is from oral tradition in Ayrshire, where, when I was a boy, it 
was a popular song. It originally had a simple old tune, whicb 
I have forgotten. 

Our lords are to the mountains gane- 

A-hunling o' the fallow deer, 
And they have grippet Hngliie Graham, 

For stealing o' the bishop's uiai*e. 

And they ha'e tied him hand and foot, 
And led him up through Stirling toun ; 

The lads and lassos met him there. 

Cried, Hughie Graham, thou ai't a loon. 

•* O, lowse my right hand free," he says, 
" And put my braid sword in the same; 
He 's no in Siirling toun this day 

Daur tell the tale to Hugliie Graham." 

Up then bespake the brave Whitefoord, 

As he sat hy the bishop's knee, 
** Five hundred white stots I'll gi'e you, 

If ye '11 let Hughie Graham gae free." 

•* O, baud your tongue," the bishop says, 
" And wi' your pleading let me be; 
For though ten Grahams were in his coat» 
Hughie Graham this day shall die." 



604 HUG HIE GRAHAM. 

Up then bespake the fair Whitefoord, 
As she sat by the bishop's knee ; 

" Five hundred white pence I'll gi'e you. 
If ye '11 gi'e Hughie Graham to me." 

*' O, hand your tongue now, lady fair. 
And wi' your pleading let it be; 
Although ten Grahams were in his coat, 
It 's for my honour he maun die." 

They 've ta'en him to the gallows knowe* 

He looked to the gallows tree ; 
Yet never colour left his cheek, 

Nor ever did he blink his e'e. 

At length he looked round about, 

To see whatever he could spy : 
And there he saw his auld father, 

And he was weeping bitterly. 

" O, baud your tongue, my father dear 
And wi' your weeping let it be ; 
Thy weeping 's sairer on my heart 
Than a' that they can do to me. 

•* And ye may gi'e my brother John 

My sword that 's bent in the middle clear; 
And let him come at twelve o'clock, 
And see me pay the bishop's mare. 

**And ye may gi'e my brother James 

My sword that 's bent in the middle brown; 
And bid him come at four o'clock. 
And see his brother Hugh cut down. 

•* Remember me to Maggie, my wife, 

The neist time ye gang o'er the moor . 
Tell her she staw the bishop's mare, — 
Tell her she was the bishop's whore. 

" And ye may tell my kith and kin, 
I never did disgrace their blood ; 
And when they meet the bishop's cloak 
To mak' it shorter by the hood." ' 

' Bums did not choose to be quite correct in stating that this copy of 
the ballad of " Hughie Graham" is printed from oral tradition in Ayr- 
shire. The fact is, that four of the stanzas are either altered or super- 
added by himself. 

Of this number the third and eighth are original ; the ninth and tenth 
have received his corrections. Perliaps pathos was never more touching 
than in the picture of the hero singling out his poor aged fatiier from the 
crowd of spectators ; and the simple grandeur of preparation for this 



605 



A SOUTHLAND JENNY. 

TiiTS is a popular Ayrshire song, though the notes were never 
taken down before. It, as well as many of the ballad tunes in 
this collection, was written from Mrs. Burns's voice. 

A Southland Jenny that was right bonnie, 

She had for a suitor a Norlan' Johnnie ; 

But he was siccan a bashfu' wooer 

That he could scarcely speak unto her. 

But blinks o' her beauty, and hopes o' her siller, 

Forced him at last to tell his mind till 'er : 

My dear, quo' he, we'll nae longer tarry, 

Gin ye can love me, let 's o'er the muir and marry. 



MY TOCHER'S' THE JEWEL. 

This tune is claimed by Nathaniel Gow. It is notoriously 
taken from "The Muckin' o' Geordie's Byre." It is also to be 
found, long prior to Nathaniel Gow's era, in Aird's " Selection of 
Airs and Marches," the fii'st edition, under the name of "The 
Highway to Edinburgh." 



THEN, GUIDWIFE, COUNT THE LAWIN'. 

The chorus of this is part of an old song, one stanza of which 
I recollect: — 

Every day my wife tells me 
That ale and brandy will ruin me ; 
tint if guid liquor be my dead, 
This shall be written on my head — 
O, guidwife, count the lawin'. 

afflicting circumstance, in the verse that immediately precedes it, ia 
matchless. 

That tlie reader may properly appreciate the value of Burns's touches, 
I here subjoin two verses from the most correct copy of the ballad, as it 
is printed in the " Border Minstrelsy." 

He looked over his left shoulder 

And for to see what he might see ; 
There was he aware of his auld father 

Came tearing his hair most plteouslie. 

**0 baud your tongiie, my father," he says, 
" And see that ye dinna weep for me 1 
For they may ravish me o' my life. 

But they canna banish me from heaven hie."— CnoMER 

' Dowry- 



11^1 



60« 

THE SOGER LADDIE. 

The first verse of tills is old ; the rest is by Eamsay. The 
tune seems to be the same, with a slow air, called " Jacky Hume's 
Lament" — or, "TheHollin Buss" — or, " Ken ye what Meg o' 
the Mill has gotten ?" 

My soger laddie is over the sea, 

And he '11 bring gold and silver to me. 

And when he comes hame he will make me his lady; 

My blessings gang wi' him, my soger laddie ! 

My doughty laddie is handsome and brave, 
And can as a soger and lover behave ; 
He 's true to his country, to love he is steady ; 
There 's few to compare wi' my soger laddie. 

0, shield him, ye angels, frae death in alarms ! 
Return him, with laurels, to my longing arms ! 
Syne frae all my care ye '11 pleasantly free me. 
When back to my wishes my soger ye gi'e me. 

O, soon may his honours bloom fair on his brew I 
As quickly they must, if he get but his due; 
For in noble actions his courage is ready. 
Which makes me delight in my soger laddie. 



WHERE WAD BOimiE ANNIE LIBP 

The old name of this tune is — 

" Whare '11 our guidman lie ?* 

A silly old stanza of it runs thus : — 

O, whare '11 our guidman lie, 
Guidman lie guidman lie, 
O, whare '11 our guidmau lie 
Till he shute o'er the simmer P 

Up amang the hen-bawks. 
The hen-bawks. the hen-bawks. 
Up amang the hen-bawks, 
Amang the rotten timmer. 

Raiosay's song is as follows: — 

0, where wad bonnie Annie lie? 
Alane nae raair ye maunna lie; 
Wad ye a guidman try, — 

Is that i\y thing ye 're lacking P 



aALLOWAT TAM. 607 

O, can a lass sae yoniig as I 
Venture on the bridal tie ? 
Syne down wi' a gnidman lie, — 
I 'm flayed he 'd keep me wauldn. 

Never jndge until ye try : 
IVIak' me your guidman — I 
Shanna hinder you to lie 

And sleep till ye be weary. 
What if I should wauking lie, 
"When the ho boys are gaun by, 
Will ye tent me when I cry, 

My dear, I 'm faint and eiry ? 

In my bosom thou shalt lie, 
When thou waukrife art, or dry. 
Healthy cordial standing by 

Shall presently revive thee. 
To your will I then comply ; 
Join us. ])riest, and let me try. 
How I '11 wi' a guidman Ue, 

Wha can a cordial gi'c me. 



GALLOWAY TAM. 

I HATE seen an interlude (acted at a wedding) to this tnne, 
called "The Wooing of the Maiden." These entertainments 
are now much worn out in this part of Scotland. T'.vo are still 
retained in Nithsdale, viz , " Silly Puir Auld Glenae," and this 
one, "The Wooing of the Maiden." 

0, Galloway Tam cam' here to woo, — 

We 'd better ha"e gi'en him the bawsent cow, 

For our lass Bess may curse and ban 

The wanton wit o' Galloway Tam. 

A cannie tongue and a glance fu' gleg, 

A boordly back and a lordly leg, 

A heart hke a fox. and a look like a lamb — 

O, these are the marky o' Galloway Tam. 

O, Galloway Tam came here to sheare, — 

We 'd better ha'e gi'en him the guid grey meare. 

He kissed the guidwife and he danged the guidman. 

And these are the tricks o' Galloway Tam. 

He owed the kirk a twalmonth's score. 

And he dotfed his bonnet at the door ; 

The loon cried out, wha sung the psalm, 

" There 's room on the stool for GaUoway Tam!" 



fl 



BOB AS I CA3r DOWN BY YON CASTLE WA\ 

Ye lasses o' Galloway, frank and fail-, 
Tak' tent o' your hearts and something mair ; 
And bar your doors, your windows steelc, 
For he comes stealing like night and sleep : 
O, naught frae Tarn but wae ye '11 win, 
He'll sing ye dumb and he'll dance ye blin'; 
And afF your balance he '11 cowp ye then : 
Tak' tent o' the de'il and Galloway Tam. 

" Sir," qiioth Mess John, " the wanton de'il 

Has put his birn 'boon gospel kiel. 

And bound yere cloots in his black ban' : '* 

"For mercy loo'st!" quo' Galloway Tam; 

" In our kirk-fauld we maun ye bar. 

And smear your fleece ^vi' Covenant tar. 

And pettle ye up a dainty lamb:" 

" Among the yowes," quo' Galloway Tam. 

Eased of a twalmonth's graceless deeds. 

He gaily doffed his sackcloth weeds ; 

An' 'mang the maidens he laughing cam' — 

" Tak' tent o' your hearts," quo' Galloway Tauj, 

A cannie tongue and a glance fu' glsg, 

A boordly back and a lordly leg, 

A heart like a fox, and a look like a lamb — 

O, these are the marks o' Galloway Tam. 



AS I CAM' DOWN BY YON CASTLE WA' 
This is a very popular Ayrshire song. 

As I cam' down by yon castle wa'. 

And in by yon garden green, 
O, there I spied a bonnie, bonnie lass. 

But the flower-borders were us between. 

A bonnie, bonnie lassie she was. 

As ever mine eyes did see ; 
O, five hundred pounds would I give 

For to have such a pretty bride as thee. 

To have such a pretty bride as me ! 

Young man, ye are sairly mista'en ; 
Though ye were king o' fair Scotland, 

I wad disdain to be your queen. 

Talk not so very high, bonnie lass, 

O, talk not so very, very high ; 
The man at the fair, that wad sell, 

He maun learn at the man that wad buy. 



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LORD RONALD, MY SON. 609 

I trust to climb a far higher tree. 

And herry a fat richer nest : 
Tak' this advice o' me, bonnie lass,— 

HumiHty wad set thee best. 



LORD RONALD, MY SON. 

This air, a very favourite one in Ayrshire, is evidently the 
originai of " Lochaber." In this manner most of our finest more 
modern airs have had their origin. Some early minstrel, or 
musical shei^h-trd, composed the simple artless original air; 
which boing j>n Iced up by the more learned musician, took the 
imoroved ioim it bears. 



O'ER THE MOOR AMANG THE HEATHER. 

This song is the composition of Jean Glover, a girl who was 
not only a whore, but also a thief; and in one or other character 
has visited most of the Correction Houses in the West. 8he 
was born, I believe, in Kilmarnock. I took the song down from 
her singing, as she was stroUing through the country with a 
Bleight-of-hand blackguard. 

Comiu' through the craigs o' Kyle, 
Amang the bonnie blooming heather. 

There I met a bonnie lassie 

Keeping a' her yowes thegither. 

O'er the moor amang the heather. 
O'er the moor amang the heather, 
There I met a bonnie lassie 
Keeping a' her yowes thegither. 

Says I, My dearie, where 's thy hame, 
in moor or dale, pray tell me whether? 

She says, I tent the fleecy flocks 
That feed amang the blooming heather. 
O'er the moor, &c. 

We laid us down upon a bank, 

Sae warm and sunny was the weather, 

8he left her flocks at large to rove 
Amang the bonnie blooming heather. 
O'er the moor, &c. 

B R 



% 



610 TO THE BOSEBUD. 

While thus we lay she sang a sang. 
Till echo rang a mile and farther, 

And aye the burden o' the sang 

Was, O'er the moor amang the heather. 
O'er the moor, &e. 

She charmed my heart, and aye sinsyna 
I could na think on any ither ; 

By sea and sky she shall be mine ! 
The bonnie lass auiang the heather. 
O'er the moor, &c. 



TO THE ROSEBUD. 

Tnis song is the composition of one Johnson, a joiner in the 
neighbourhood of Belfast. The tune is by Oswald, altered 
evidently from " Jockie's Grey Breeks." 

All hail to thee, thou bawmy bud ! 

Thou charming child o' simmer, hail ! 
Ilk fragrant thorn and lofty wood 

Does nod thy welcome to the vale. 

See, on thy lovely faulded form 

Glad Phoebus smiles wi' cheering eye, 

"While on thy head the dewy morn 
Has shed the tears o' silent joy. 

The tuneful tribes frae yonder bower, 
Wi' sangs of joy thy presence hail; 

Then haste, thou balmy, fragrant flower, " 
And gi'e thy bosom to the gale. 

And see the fair industrious bee. 
With airy wheel and soothing hum, 

Flies ceaseless round thy parent tree. 
While gentle breezes trembling come. 

If ruthless Liza pass this way, 

She '11 pu' thee frae thy thorny stem ; 

Awhile thou 'It grace her virgin breast, 
But soon thou 'It fade, my bonnie gem. 

Ah ! short, too short, thy rural reign. 
And yield to fate, alas ! thou must : 

Bright emblem of the virgin train. 
Thou blooms, alas ! to mix wi' dust. 

Sae bonnie Liza hence may learn, 

Wi' every youthfu' maiden gay. 
That beauty, like the simmer's rose. 

In time, shall wither and decay. 



1 



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611 



THE TEARS I SHED MUST EVER FALL. 

This song of genius was composed by a Miss Cranstoun.' Tu 
wanted four lines, to make all the stanzas suit tlie music, vvliicb 
I added, and are the first four of the last stanza. 

The tears I shed must ever fall; 

I weep not for an altsent swain, 
For time can past deliglits recall, 

And parted lovers meet again. 
I weep not for the silent dead, — 

Their toils are past, their sorrows o'er, 
And those they loved their steps shall tread. 

And death shall join to part no more. 

Though boundless oceans roU between. 

If certain that his heart is near, 
A conscious transport glads the scene. 

Soft is the sigh and sweet the tear. 
E'en when by Death's cold hand removed, 

We mourn the tenant of the tomb, 
To think that even in death he loved. 

Can cheer the terrors of the gloom. 

But bitter, bitter is the tear 

Of her who slighted love bewails ; 
Ko hopes her gloomy prospect cheer, 

No pleasing melancholy hails. 
Hers are the pangs of wounded pride, 

Of blasted hope, and withered joy; 
The prop she leaned on pierced her side, — 

The flame she fed burns to destroy. 

In vain does memory renew 

The scenes once tinged in transport's dye 
The sad reverse soon meets the view. 

And turns the thought to agony. 
Even conscious virtue cannot cure 

The pangs to every feeling due; 
Ungenerous youth, thy boast how poor, 

To steal a heart, and break it too ! 

No cold reproach — no altered mien — 
Just what would make suspicion start; 

No pause the dire extremes between, — 
He made me blest — and broke my heart I 

* She married Diigald Stewart, aud died in 1838. 



ei2 DAINTY DAVIE. 

Hope from its only anchor torn. 

Neglected and neglecting all, 
Friendless, forsaken, and forlorn, 
The tears I shed must ever fall. 



DAINTY DAYIE. 

This song, tradition says — and the composition itself confirms 
it — was composed on the Rev. David Williamson's begetting the 
daughter of Lady Cherrytrees with child, while a party of 
dragoons were searching her house to apprehend him tor being 
an adherent to the Solemn League and Covenant. The pious 
woman had put a lady's nightcap on him, and had laid him 
abed with her own daughter, and passed him to the soldiery as 
a lady, her daughter's bedfellow. A mutilated stanza or two 
ai'e to be found in Herd's collection, but the original song con- 
sists of five or six stanzas, and were their delicac}'^ equal to their 
wit and humour, they would merit a place in any collectiou. 
The first stanza is as follows : — 

Being pursued by the dragoons, 
With'n my bed he was laid down ; 
And weel I wat he was worth his room, 
For he was my daintie Davie. 

Ramsay's song, " Luclvie Nansy," though he calls it an old 
Bong with additions, seems to be all his own, except the 
chorus, — 

I was a-telling you, 
Luckie Nansy, luckie Nansy, 
Auld sprmgs wad ding the new, 
But ye wad never trow me ; 

which I should conjecture to be part of a song prior to tha 
afiair of Williamson. 

LUCKY NANSY. 

While fops in soft Italian verse, 

Hk fair ane's een and breast rehearse. 

While sangs abound and sense is scarce. 

These lines I have indited. 
But neither darts nor arrows here, 
Venus nor Cupid shall appear. 
And yet with these fine sounds, I sweax. 

The maidens are dehffhted. 



DAINTY DAVIE. 613 

I was aye telling you, 
Luckie Nansy, luckie Nansy, 
Atild springs wad ding' the new. 
But ye wad never trow me. 

Nor snaw with crimson will I mix. 
To spread upon my lassie's cheeks ; 
And syne th' unmeaning name prefil, 

Miranda, Chloe, Phillis. 
I '11 fetch na simile frae Jove, 
My height of extacy to prove, 
Nor sighing — thus — present my love 

With roses eke and lilies. 

I was aye telling you, &c. 

But stay — I had amaist forgot 
My mistress and my sang to boot, 
But that 's an unco' faut, I wot — 

But Nansy, 'tis nae matter. 
Ye see I clink my verse wi' rhyme, 
And, ken ye, that atones the crime; 
Forbye, how sweet my numbers chiraa^ 

And sUde away like water ! 
I was aye telling you, &c. 

Now ken, my reverend sonsy fair. 
Thy runkled ^ cheeks and lyart ^ hair. 
Thy hafF-shut een and hodling air, 

Are a' my passion's fuel. 
Nae skyring gowk, my dear, can see 
Or love, or grace, or heaven in thee. 
Yet thou hast charms enow for me, — 

Then smile, and be na cruel. 

Leeze me on thy snawy pow, 
Luckie Nansy, luckie Nansy ; 
Driest wood will eithest low,* 
And Nansy, sae will ye now. 

Troth, I have sung the sang to you 
Which ne'er anither bard wad do ; 
Hear, then, my charitable vow. 

Dear, venerable Nansy ; 
But if the world my passion wrang. 
And say. Ye only live in sang, 
Ken, I despise a slandering tongue, 

And sing to please my fancy. 
Leeze me on thy, &c. 

• Excel. » Wr' ^ Grey, * Soonest burn. 



f 



614 



BOB 0' DUMBLAITE. 

Ratnisat, as usual, has modernized this song. The original, 
^hich I learned on the spot, from my old hostess in the prin- 
cipal inn there, is, — 

Lassie, lend me your braw hemp-hecHe, 
And I '11 lend you my thripplin'-kame; 

My heckle is broken, it canna be gotten, 
And we '11 gae dance the bob o' Dumblane. 

Twa gaed to the wood, to the wood, to the wood, 
Twa gaed to the wood — three came hame : 

An' it be na weel bobbit, weel bobbit, wecl bobblt, 
An' it be na weel bobbit, we '11 bob it again. 

I insert this song to introduce the following anecdote, which 
I have heard well authenticated: — In the evening of the day of 
the Battle of Dnmblaue (Sheriff-Muir), when the action was 
over, a Scots officer, in Argyll's army, observed to his Grace 
that he was afraid the rebels would give out to the world that 
they had gotten the victory. " Weel, weel," returned his Grace, 
alluding to the foregoing ballad, *' if they think it be na weel 
bobbit, we 'U bob it again." 



The battle of Dumblane, or Sheriff-Muir, was fought on the 
13th of November, 1715, between the Earl of Mar, for Prince 
Charles Edward, and the Duke of Argyll, for the Government. 
Both sides claimed the victory, the left wing of each array being 
touted. 



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